


Looking Out For Something Real

by chazzkat



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Anxiety, Awkward Connor (Detroit: Become Human), CyberLife is basically Dr. Evil's organization, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gavin is a sulking brat, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Serial Murder, Sexual Content, Terrorism, Violence, ain't got time for this Fowler, basically writing this whole thing to a synthwave soundtrack, cybernetic pet death, empty nest hank, he's just gotta work through some stuff, mostly true to life Detroit, post-game peaceful revolution - everybody lives, some other OCs sprinkled in for flavor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 71,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24814381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chazzkat/pseuds/chazzkat
Summary: Connor adjusts to life six months after the Jericho uprising and tries to uncover what it means to become human.
Relationships: Connor/Original Female Character
Comments: 59
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written without a beta so if there are issues I apologize. Feedback is always appreciated, either positive or negative. I haven't written anything in quite some time but after playing Detroit: Become Human recently I was moved to create a labor of love about what it means to be human.
> 
> The title is taken from one of my favorite films - Blade Runner 2049.

There were long slats of golden late afternoon light spilling in through the western windows of the Detroit Police Department when Connor finally logged off his terminal and sat back in his chair. He breathed a manual sigh meant to denote relief at the completion of one’s duties, ensuring it was loud enough for his partner to hear him from where he sat at the adjacent desk. Its occupant did not react to the sound and remained hunched over the monitor, fingers stabbing haltingly at the keyboard as he struggled to fill out a report.

Connor glanced over at his friend and colleague and waited patiently for him to look up, but still he did not, seemingly absorbed by his work. Lieutenant Hank Anderson was a decorated officer and respected veteran of the D.P.D. as well as an Obstinate Son of A Bitch, something their division captain called him from time to time. It was an affectionate nickname, which confused Connor greatly.

Hank’s hair and beard had greyed and grown long in recent years but his abilities as a detective had not been dulled by time in the slightest. Connor noted he did succeed at dampening his senses with copious amounts of alcohol at a frequency that could be called dependency, but to Hank’s credit this had lessened greatly as of late. Connor had observed the fact that this shift in his drinking habits had occurred around the same time as the Jericho rebellion back in November, the meaning behind this connection continuing to elude him even several months later.

Hank’s desk space was adorned with newspaper clippings and photos that highlighted his many achievements as well as serving to recognize those who had worked alongside him throughout the years. A small framed photo sat on the desk, separate from the rest of the memorabilia. It featured a recent picture of Hank and Connor together, Hank’s arm around the smaller dark-haired detective, squeezing him in close for the photo. They were laughing at something unseen behind the camera, the sun’s rays forcing them to squint against the glare.

The tapping of the keyboard continued, erratic and somewhat violent, and Connor sensed that now was not a good time to initiate a conversation. He grimly took note of more evidence that further supported his theory, such as the way Hank was holding tension in his bunched-up shoulders and the death glare he was directing at the computer screen.

In spite of this Connor made the decision to interrupt him.

“Hank?” he asked, placidly. “Are you nearly done filling out your report?”

Not so long ago this line of questioning might have resulted in bodily injury for Connor, at the very least a telling-off, but things were different now. He had been inducted into Hank’s good graces and no matter how often he bungled social situations or annoyed those around him Hank exercised a steadfast patience that was born from paternal experience.

Hank sighed but still did not look up from his computer. “Yeah, kinda. I’m just filling in the notes on that last guy we talked to, the _suspected_ dealer on Northwood Street. Suspected, my ass. I want to get his statement into the report but I keep fucking up the punctuation. I either need a bigger keyboard or smaller hands. Or a drink.”

Connor nodded and smiled. “Understood.” He hesitated. “…If it’s all right with you I’m going to walk over to the blue district and pick up a few personal items now that I’ve completed my work for the day.”

Hank’s chair squealed in protest as he leaned back heavily and crossed his arms. He rolled his eyes extravagantly then settled them on his partner, frowning. “Connor, you don’t have to ask my permission. And anyway, you should know by now that I’m no shining example of authority.”

Connor bowed his head apologetically, but couldn’t hide the small smile that materialized as he was lectured by the older man. “Sorry, Lieutenant.”

“And Connor, it’s been almost six months. When are you going to start calling me Hank?” Hank’s words were stern but his blue eyes danced with amusement.

“Old habits, Lieu- Hank,” he managed to correct himself, and a burst of laughter erupted from Hank as though Connor had just done something hilarious. Connor forcibly terminated the process that had begun spinning up in the background, wasted computing power attempting fruitlessly to decipher the often enigmatic behavior of his partner. He smiled back at Hank instead.

Connor stood and straightened his tie, then pushed in his chair. It felt good to get up after sitting at the computer for so long. His legs were stiff from disuse. Part of him almost missed the time before deviancy when such corporeal concerns were foreign to him, but he wouldn’t go back to his programmed state for anything.

Amanda’s disappointed visage arose unbidden from his memory banks and he suppressed a shudder.

Hank was giving him a shrewd look. “Personal items, eh? What, you run out of white button-up shirts or somethin’?” He hesitated, then cleared his throat awkwardly and sat up straighter in his chair. “Ah, do you want me to go with you? I could give you a ride. I won’t be too much longer with this damn thing, or I could just blow it off and finish it tomorrow.” He looked more than a little eager to do so.

Connor felt a strange warmth radiating from his innermost components, something he had experienced many times before but had not yet identified. He was aware that it was a _good_ feeling, and that he liked it. He just wasn’t sure yet what it meant.

He smiled appreciatively at Hank. “That’s all right. I was actually looking forward to the short walk there.” He quickly pinged the National Weather Service and immediately received a string of data. “It’s sixty-four degrees out so it should be nice. As for what I’m getting, clothes weren’t on the agenda.” He glanced over at Hank, hesitating. “….Unless you think I need something specific.”

Hank evaluated Connor’s outfit dubiously. He was wearing what could have been the same pair of jeans he had shown up in when they first met at Jimmy’s Bar long ago, an ivory button up shirt that Connor asserted was a _separate color_ from his white ones, and a simple navy blue tie. On his feet were a pair of black, steel-toed, synthetic leather work boots with a thick rubber sole that Hank had convinced him to purchase when the snow had really started coming down in December. Being able to write the exorbitant purchase off as a work expense had been the deciding factor for Connor in the end.

His assessment completed, Hank shrugged his shoulders in surrender. “Well, at least you’re not wearing that god-awful CyberLife uniform any more. But I still think you need to add some more color or somethin’. Get a crazy tie or some shit.”

Connor nodded solemnly. “I will take that into consideration. Thank you for the input.”

“Relax, I’m kidding.” Hank shook his head, still amused by something that continued to elude Connor. “Enjoy your walk. I’ll catch you at home later.”

Connor retrieved a grey blazer from where it hung on the back of his chair and turned to go.

“Oh, hey, Con’,” Hank added, “When were you going to look at apartments? Do you want me there? I could do all the talking so you can go around and scan everything to your heart’s delight.” He gave Connor a lopsided smile, his eyes twinkling. “Don’t tell me that doesn’t sound like a good time. Plus, I’ve rented tons of shitholes in this city so I know a thing or two.”

Connor internally scanned his email and found the correspondences with two different property managers. “Next Tuesday at 11:00 is the first viewing, and the other is at 1:30. I’d be very grateful for your help, Hank.”

Hank smiled and nodded. “Great, I’ll be there.” He looked uncomfortable for a moment. “It’s good that you’re getting your own place and everything but I’ll be honest, it’s gonna be weird not having you around after all this time. Er, Sumo is going to miss ya.”

Connor’s systems perked up and worked 4% more efficiently at the mention of Hank’s affectionate Saint Bernard. Thinking quickly, he came up with an idea.

“Is it all right if I come by and see him every day? I could take him for walks.”

Hank let out a breath, looking relieved. “Of course you can. You can still come over any time you want. My door will always be open to you, Connor.”

The moment stretched out between them, then a door slammed loudly from the back of the building and Hank abruptly turned back to his computer. He furtively scrubbed at his eyes with the back of a hand. “Fucking dust in here. Anyway, I’d better get this done.”

On the way out Connor passed by two female officers, relatively new to the force having joined just two months after he had been sent by CyberLife to help with investigations. They were young, chatty, and usually in each other’s company. Most of the men in the department as well as a few women had a tendency to devote excessive amounts of time to staring at them.

As they passed by the taller woman with red hair winked at Connor, and the two of them erupted with scarcely-stifled laughter as they continued down the hall towards the lockers.

Connor kept walking, confused by their odd behavior but already putting it out of his mind.

“It’s called flirting, dipshit.”

The abrasive voice came from the reception area. As expected, Gavin Reed was leaning against the counter with his phone in his hand, a familiar affectation for the scowling detective. Connor tried not to look at the device from across the room but he couldn’t prevent the already running ocular scan, nor the subsequent analysis of the messages. He really wished he had, because it was mostly explicit exchanges between Gavin and a young female officer Connor had worked with a few times. He quickly scrubbed the data from his system and smiled.

“Hello, Detective Reed. Done for the day?”

Gavin’s eyes flashed at his polite tone, something Connor’s psychological profiling software had long ago identified as a likely oppositional defiant disorder. The analysis ran through his mind automatically.

_Symptoms generally begin before a child is eight years old. They include irritable mood, argumentative and defiant behavior, aggression, and vindictiveness that last more than six months and cause significant problems at home, work, or school. Treatment requires aggressive individual therapy._

Connor was aware that Gavin had received disciplinary retraining stemming from several incidents in just the past six months, one of which involved the android himself. Gavin had tried to shoot Connor, and then Connor had forcibly subdued Gavin and left him unconscious in the evidence room to be found later by several other officers and a member of the FBI.

Due to this incident it was now common knowledge around the precinct that there was animosity between the two of them, although it was clearly one-sided as Connor repeatedly employed the “kill them with kindness” technique when dealing with the antagonistic man. To his credit Gavin never did say what had happened between them down in evidence, so it never amounted to anything more than a stern lecture from Captain Fowler about teamwork and putting old prejudices to rest.

As it was now, the two had to work together, and Gavin knew his behavior had him strung out with his ass in the wind, so he kept it civil for the most part. Connor sensed, however, that every time they were in the same room together Gavin was sizing him up and deciding how much force it would take to break him into pieces.

Taking a few steps closer to Connor, Gavin snorted derisively and pocketed his phone. “Done? Fuck no. I gotta go clean up a mess on Periwinkle and 3rd. Fucking two week old decomp and no leads.”

He glared at Connor, leaning towards him menacingly. The smell of cigarettes invaded the android’s sensitive nostrils. “And where the fuck do you think you’re going, robo-twat? They let you leave without Anderson holding your hand?”

Connor nodded. “Yes. I’m going shopping.”

“Pfft. Well why don’t you buy yourself a cyber-dick and go fuck yourself with it, how about that?”

Connor frowned, puzzled, and halted his ever-eager internal processes from initiating before they could begin to project a scenario for him. He didn’t even want to know.

“Thank you for that suggestion, Detective Reed. Enjoy your evening.”

He turned away to leave and felt a small amount of satisfaction at the wrathful expression on Gavin’s face, his scarred features contorted with fury.

Walking briskly to the exit, Connor pulled out his badge and swiped it over the personnel registry device, watching the light as it changed from red to green. After exiting through the main doors he let a small smile steal across his face, illuminated by the dusky glow from the retreating sun, then he began the walk to the blue district.


	2. Chapter 2

Rachel’s head rose halfheartedly from her crossword at the sound of the door chime going off. It was a Thursday afternoon and the small computer resale shop had been dead most of the day. She was about ready to call it quits and close up but she found herself presented with one last opportunity to move some merchandise.

“Hi there, welcome,” she called out, a forced lilt in her voice meant to synthesize enthusiasm. She caught a glimpse of a tall man in a grey blazer and jeans. He had stopped just inside the entrance and was looking at a rack of hard drives, his back to her.

“Hello,” came the response, muted. He seemed distracted but Rachel was determined to deliver at least the bare minimum of customer service. She really needed the sale.

“Let me know if there is anything I can help you with, okay?”

He reached for one of the hard drives and studied it. “I will, thanks.”

Rachel looked back down at her crossword. She tapped the business end of her blue ball point pen against the counter. It was a point of pride that she always filled these out in ink because it was more difficult to recover from mistakes. Reducing the margin of error was the reason she religiously did the crossword each day, poring over it until she could go no further. Often she was able to complete the puzzle in its entirety, and on those days she would get herself something small and special, usually involving chocolate. It was a system of reward that helped to keep her mind busy through slow times.

She was an attractive woman, although she had never bothered to put in the effort to enhance her beauty using the conventional methods harnessed by her gender. Her hair was black, straight, and hung to her shoulders with thick bangs skimming her eyebrows. She had brown eyes, olive skin, and high cheekbones due to the Chinook ancestry on her father’s side. She nearly always dressed casually, choosing that day to don gray cotton pants and a black t-shirt with a howling wolf on it, her favorite outfit due to its high level of comfort.

She was on the taller side at five foot eight inches, but her slim build and propensity for dark, loose clothing allowed her to be often overlooked, which suited her just fine. She chose to fade effortlessly into the background at social events rather than muster the energy to fight her way into the conversation as others around her did. In spite of her social reticence she made a point to regularly attend get-togethers with her few close friends when they invited her. At thirty-two years old she knew maintaining a social circle was a challenge and she didn’t want to lose the connections she had to the outside world. In spite of these infrequent gatherings at times she felt like she was in a bubble. She lived alone, worked alone at her computer shop, and spent most of her evenings by herself. It was a solitary life, but she passed the time with a lot of reading and video games. When it was nice out she would ride her bicycle on the recreation path near her apartment, the world passing by in a blur of color and noise as she sped along.

“An early Chinese dynasty…” she mused quietly to herself, pen tapping an irregular beat on the counter. Her cup of coffee was thankfully still warm and she reached out and took a sip, her eyes never leaving the paper.

“Ting? Zang? I can never remember these.” She huffed through her nose and looked over at the gentleman again. He was on the other side of the display rack now holding a different hard drive. She could see his face. He was more than handsome, he was immaculate somehow…as though he had been assembled with special attention. Perfect skin, perfect hair, a perfect mouth set in a straight line. Dark eyes beneath a brow pinched with concentration as he mulled over the merchandise.

She tried to think of a better word to describe him, but nothing immediately came to mind. In spite of all of the time spent on crosswords she was at a loss. Then it hit her. _Pulchritudinous._ It was one of her favorite words, and it fit him perfectly. She labeled him The Pulchritudinous Patron in her head and grinned slyly to herself, then resumed tapping her pen.

His eyes suddenly darted up to look at her and she reflexively gave him a weak smile. She was never very good at getting her face to correctly display the desired emotion but she still made the effort. It usually helped to put customers at ease but it seemed ineffective here as he did not return the perfunctory gesture. His brown eyes burned into hers and for the span of a few seconds she could only stare back. Seeming to realize he was being impolite, his expression abruptly shifted and became more pleasant. He smiled warmly and spoke, releasing her from the invisible hold.

“I’m looking for a large capacity hot-swappable hard drive that is of a sturdy nature,” he said, the pleasant timbre of his voice drawing her in as his eyes remained fixed on hers. Rachel sensed her attention narrowing down to the man standing in her shop as he spoke. A voice in the back of her mind warned her she was being unprofessional. This man was not only a stranger, he was a customer. She swiftly refocused her attention back to the task at hand, bringing a pointer finger up to smooth the slight furrow that had formed in her brow.

The man was still standing there waiting for her to say something. He looked slightly puzzled, raising his brow expectantly while she fidgeted. Finally her brain caught up with her.

“Hard drives!” she said a bit too forcefully. “Yes, as you can see we have plenty of those!”

She marveled at how ridiculous she sounded, but hurried on, trying to ignore the incredulous inner voice as she automatically slipped into professionalism. “You’re looking for a sturdy one with a large capacity? I think I have that in stock.”

Without a conscious decision Rachel found herself walking out from behind the counter towards the customer as her businesswoman persona went into full effect. Rather than meet his eyes again and risk going to pieces she took in his attire. The grey blazer he wore over a button-up shirt made her think he must work in an office somewhere, maybe in management. Then she noticed the bright yellow letters embroidered on the sleeve. She made out the word Detroit.

As she got closer she could see the words more clearly. _Detroit Police Department._ And underneath, the circular patch appeared to be the Detroit Police logo and motto, _ANDROID CAPITAL OF THE WORLD._ She wished the city would change the slogan. It seemed incredibly insensitive to the newly awakened androids they were now ushering into society.

Rachel was standing a few feet away from him now next to the hard drive display. She busied herself with presenting the selling points for each model, certain the entire time she could feel his eyes on her as she rifled through the boxes on the shelf.

“I know we have a few Western Digital zettabytes in stock that have a protective steel casing and come with a guarantee on fall damage included in the warranty. Those are popular. They cost $82.65 plus tax. And I just got in some of the new Silvan yottabyte drives, which I’m certain would have the same guarantee considering they are pretty expensive. …But worth it,” she quickly added. “The storage capacity is more than a datacenter the size of two Michigans, if that analogy makes sense.”

Rachel glanced at him nervously, finally daring to meet his eyes again. He nodded once and the side of his mouth ticked upwards, just enough to be considered a smile.

“It does,” he responded, looking amused. She felt her stomach twist faintly, whether due to anxiety or hunger it was difficult to tell.

There was long pause while Rachel tried to think of what to say. She wondered why speaking to this man was so difficult. It was beyond the usual awkward conversation she stumbled her way through with other cute guys. Something was different. She couldn’t get a reading from him, plus the fact that he was ridiculously attractive didn’t help a bit.

His question broke through her thoughts, startling her. “What is the price for the Silvan model, please? And how many yottabytes is it manufactured to hold?”

Rachel tried to remember. “Actually, I’m not sure,” she told him. “They just came in. Do you mind waiting for just a moment while I check?”

This time he gave her a real, disarming smile. “Of course. Go right ahead.”

Her stomach twisted again. It was definitely an anxiety stomach thing, not a hunger thing. Great.

The word entered her mind again, unbidden. _Pulchritudinous_.

She walked back behind the counter and jerkily moved the mouse to wake up the computer monitor. Her fingers danced across the keyboard as she did an inventory lookup.

At the edge of her vision she noticed the customer approach and lean against the counter, arms folded in front of his chest. He peered down at her crossword and Rachel couldn’t stop herself from tearing her eyes away from the screen to stare at his thick, dark brown hair. She didn’t know much about hair care products, especially those made for men, but whatever he used it made her want to run her hands through it. She noticed that an inexplicable lock of hair had escaped and hung over his forehead, rebelling against the rest of his kempt appearance.

“Zhou.”

The word caught Rachel off guard and she blinked. “Bless you?”

He let out a low hum that sounded amused and looked up at her.

“No, you misunderstand. I am referring to the crossword puzzle that you are working on. Thirteen down. ‘An early Chinese dynasty.’ The answer is Zhou.”

Rachel’s eyes widened and she beamed at him. “Oh, thanks! I never would have gotten that!”

The corner of his mouth ticked upwards again in that not-quite-smile.

“Glad to help,” he replied congenially.

There was an idea growing in the pit of Rachel’s still-twisting stomach, an idea that she had not entertained in years. The idea had undoubtedly been formed when she was much younger while watching romantic comedies with her sister. In spite of their frequent misadventures, the female main characters had taught her that there is nothing wrong with a woman going after what she wants in life, and sometimes that something was a handsome stranger. The seed had been sown and now, faced with a gorgeous man that she could scarcely look at, she could feel it growing and demanding that she act.

Still, Rachel bravely tried to forge on with the sale. Brick and mortar stores simply could not afford to pass up profit in the face of e-world, as she called it. Most transactions were done online without a human ever being involved in the process, so for a business like hers customers were valuable.

Rachel located the inventory listing she was searching for and clicked.

“The Silvans are $225, but if you really want big storage I’d highly recommend it. That’s .98 Y-bytes after the management software that comes on it. Otherwise you could go with the Western Digital model I mentioned. After all, one and a half zettabytes is still a lot. Oh, also…” She picked up one of the Silvan units from behind the counter where they were still stacked and squinted at the fine print on the box. “Yup. The warranty includes fall damage. As I expected. And of course all of your data can be backed up to an external server for a small subscription fee.”

Her customer nodded and hummed again, considering. With rising alarm Rachel sensed the imprudent idea had worked its way up into her throat now. It was too late to kill it with common sense and reason. With belated panic she realized that she was speaking to her customer, the words coming out in a rush.

“Do you want to get a coffee with me and work on this crossword some more?”

There was a pregnant pause that hung in the air between them. Her inner critique scoffed at the bad pick-up line, but she consoled herself with pride for being brave enough to ask him out in the first place.

Rachel studied the man and waited for the inevitable frown, the downward twist of the mouth, the rejection. The feeling of dread that came with asking a guy out had started in high school and never really went away completely, her mind conjuring up a dozen worst-case scenarios unbidden. In spite of her dour expectations she was surprised to see instead that he appeared to be somewhat shocked. His mouth hung slightly open and his eyes were wide with surprise. Rachel felt a surge of guilt.

“Sorry, I swear I don’t ever do this. No big deal. But I was planning on going over to the place around the corner to work on this thing and since you seem like you’ve got some crossword skills…” She trailed off and let the breath trapped in her lungs out in a small sigh. Her eyes darted to the ground, anywhere except to the gentleman in front of her.

“…All right.”

There was a tone to his response that suggested he was oddly surprised, but as Rachel looked at him she saw him regain his composure and smile warmly at her. Her heart decided to be wickedly cliché at that moment and skip a beat.

He continued, “That would be…nice. When do you want to do that?”

Rachel’s brain was sending several messages to her at once, but with some effort she was able to organize her thoughts, giving him a timid smile. “When is good for you?” she asked. “It’s 5:15 now. I can pretty much close up any time. Luxury of being the owner.”

The thought occurred to her suddenly that she did not know his name. “Oh, I’m Rachel, by the way.”

She stuck out her hand and he automatically took it in his own and grasped it firmly, giving her a solid, business-like handshake.

“My name is Connor,” he replied, looking bemused, but whether it was directed at her or at himself Rachel wasn’t certain.

_*_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: The Pixies - "Hey"

They left the shop together after Connor paid for a Silvan hard drive and Rachel closed up the store. Connor carried the box under one arm, his features passive as they walked side by side, while Rachel had a black backpack slung over one shoulder.

It was late April and the past several days the sun had been gracious enough to show itself and bask the world in much-needed warmth. Lengthening streaks of light and shadow stretched across their path as the star slowly traced its way past the horizon.

Rachel let out a contented hum and glanced over at Connor, studying him closely. He seemed to be trying to take in everything, his head slowly swiveling back and forth, eyes settling on various points of interest as they strolled past. Rachel assumed his vigilance was a byproduct of being a Detroit cop.

“Have you been to this coffee shop before?” she asked. “It’s my go-to spot.”

He looked at her, ceasing his scan of their surroundings momentarily.

“Well, no. I do not drink coffee.”

“Oh, shit. I mean shoot.” She was trying to reduce the amount she swore, particularly around handsome strangers. “You don’t do coffee? That’s fine. We can always go somewhere else if you want.”

She glanced at him anxiously but his face gave her nothing to go on. She continued, “There’s a great sandwich place a few blocks away. Or whatever you’d like. I’m fine with anything really.”

Connor shook his head and shoved his hands into the pockets of his blazer. His posture was impeccably straight.

“A coffee shop is fine, as the location is secondary to completing the primary objective: your crossword puzzle. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Rachel laughed. “Well yeah, I would agree. It’s always nice to meet someone who takes the crossword as seriously as I do.” She smiled over at him. “So, do you work on it every day? I usually do, but sometimes I don’t get around to it if the shop gets busy.”

Connor pulled his hands out of his pockets and reached up to adjust his tie, followed by each sleeve cuff, first the left, then the right, shifting the hard drive box around as he did so. After he had completed this ritual he looked over at her again. There was something in his eyes besides intense focus now. Rachel tried to pinpoint the meaning behind the softness she saw there, but it eluded her.

“I have never partaken in a crossword puzzle assessment before,” he said quietly, sounding apologetic.

Rachel’s mind worked to produce any feasible reason why a person would never have done a crossword puzzle, but nothing came to her. She told herself it didn’t mean anything. It didn’t make him a bad person, just incredibly sheltered. Or worse, mundanely uninspired.

She spread her arms wide and gave Connor a conspiratorial look. “Well then it’s good that you met me, isn’t it? I’m an expert. I can show you the ropes.”

Connor’s almost-smile returned. He stared at a point somewhere a few meters away on the sidewalk as they strolled along, ostensibly lost in thought.

They rounded a corner and Rachel took in the familiar metal tables and folding chairs set up on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop. A sign over the open door read “3 Beans” in rainbow letters. She could hear music coming from inside. It was an old song, an “oldie but goodie” as Rachel’s mother used to say.

“Here we are,” she announced, then frowned. “I wish I could remember, damn it. What is this song called?”

Connor stopped walking and looked over Rachel’s shoulder at something far away, his eyes briefly going distant then sliding back over to her.

“Monkey Gone To Heaven by The Pixies, active from 1986 through 2025. Remaining living member is Joey Santiago, age 73.”

Rachel looked at him, amazed. “Wow! Nice. So you’re a music geek, huh? You know my mother used to listen to these guys when I was little.”

She walked inside with Connor trailing behind, hands still firmly in his pockets. She looked back at him and noticed he was scanning their surroundings diligently again. Rachel felt bad that he couldn't relax even in a coffee shop. She made a mental note to try and find out how to get him to loosen up.

Behind the counter a dark-skinned man with long dreadlocked hair greeted her warmly.

“Rachel! Nice to see you. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” He waved his arm towards the door. “If you’re staying you’ll want to sit inside because I’m about to put all of the tables up for the night. Having your usual?”

She smiled in return and nodded. “Hi Nate. Yes, please. And let me get back to you on my friend here. I want to help him find something. He doesn’t drink coffee.” She said the last part in a stage whisper from behind her hand, smiling and looking over at Connor.

Nate gasped loudly and then turned to start her customary drink, a hazelnut latte.

“Okay Connor,” Rachel put her hands on her hips and challenged him. “What are you having? I invited you here so I’ll gladly buy. Plus, you’re helping me get a Thursday crossword done which is no easy feat so I owe you. If you need a suggestion, Nate has out of this world croissants.”

“Thank you!” Nate shouted from behind the counter as he worked the elegant espresso machine.

Connor looked at her, and now Rachel could see exactly what the emotion was in his dark eyes that had been eluding her. He looked completely out of his element, lost and miserable.

Her heart sank. She regretting making him go with her. Clearly he hadn’t really wanted to.

She decided to try and repair the damage. “Is something wrong?”

He continued to regard her wistfully for a lengthy moment.

“ _To trade one_ _’s face for the journey of one’s soul,_ ” he said, so softly she could barely make out the words. She wanted to reach out and put a comforting hand on his shoulder and try to alleviate his mood, but she also didn’t want to be rude. Propriety won. She lightly dug her nails into her palms instead.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t believe so. I’ll go sit over there and wait for you.”

She watched him walk over and find a spot at a table by the window, straight and vigilant, the petulant bit of hair still hanging down over his left eye. Rachel had been on several bad dates before, but this was the only time she really wanted to try to save the situation. She felt an intense attraction to this man that captivated her.

Nate slid the tall mug of steaming latte across the counter to her and she hurriedly retrieved a bill from her pants pocket and set it down. “Thanks, Nate. Keep the change,” she told him.

She walked slowly over to where Connor sat. He had one ankle crossed over the other knee, forming a triangular barrier between the two of them. His left hand was in his coat pocket again and his right was flat on the table, the long, elegant fingers flexing slightly.

She inclined her head towards the empty chair and smiled. “May I sit?”

He nodded, then uncrossed his legs and moved his chair closer to the table. Rachel noted absently that a new Pixies song was playing now, another one she vaguely recognized called “Hey.”

“I don’t mean to alarm you with what must appear to be strange behavior,” he said. “It’s just that I would like to be honest with you. I am feeling a sense of trepidation about the conversation we are going to have shortly. It’s a feeling that is new to me. I’m working on processing it.”

Rachel felt that now-familiar anxious twist in her stomach again. She ignored it and took a sip of the still too-hot latte, then looked at him over the brim of the mug.

“Mm. Ouch. Hot. What conversation, Connor? I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

He slid his gaze up and captured Rachel’s eyes from beneath his dark lashes as he spoke.

“Although I am flattered that you seem to think I pass as an organic being with dietary requirements I have to be clear with you in order to avoid any undue shock or outrage that might arise from the inevitability that you uncover the truth. I am a specialized android model RK800, manufactured eight months ago shortly before the android revolution, as they’re calling it.”

He gave her another one of his near-smiles. “An overly romantic term, in my opinion, but it does effectively describe what took place.”

Rachel stared, the mug burning her hand where she held it. Her mouth opened but she did not say anything.

The smile slipped from Connor’s face and his brow pinched together. He looked down at the table and from his pocket withdrew a vintage silver coin. Sitting back in his chair, he rolled the coin fluidly across his knuckles as he waited for Rachel to speak, his eyes following it closely.

She found her voice at last. “I had no idea. Really.”

“My appearance and voice were specifically designed to facilitate my integration,” he intoned flatly, still watching the coin as it moved across the back of his hand.

She watched him for a moment and felt her heart clinch with sympathy. He looked so troubled even as he tried his best to hide it. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he must be going through.

Rachel knew the basic facts about what had caused the android revolution nearly six months earlier based on what the news had reported. Androids started sporadically waking up one day with their own free will and it quickly swept across the entire country, and recent headlines revealed that it was now also spreading through Russia and China.

She knew many of these awakened androids had died fighting for their freedom but there had been no stopping the flame once it took hold. Eventually even hard-nosed President Warren was forced to bend to their will.

And now…what everyone was calling “integration.” It reminded her of what she had learned about in school from events that took place almost a hundred years ago. As difficult as it was for her to consider, society had once been separated by race and gender and people were given different levels of freedom based on these factors. After several decades of lengthy and difficult protests, which Rachel recalled being peaceful, these disenfranchised groups had managed to win equal rights and respect from the entire world.

Rachel recalled the process back then was very similar to the current situation that was unfolding day by day. Androids were no longer forced to ride standing at the back of the bus. They were no longer expected to work for no pay. They were not considered personal property. Most importantly, androids were now recognized as a separate, cognizant species. This prompted tons of new legislation to be drafted in Congress beginning with the Android Accords, a document that guaranteed emergency rights for deviants everywhere.

There were those who were having difficulty adjusting to a world without slave labor, but thankfully they were few in number, or at least not many dared to vocalize their dissent. Watching android-kind wake up and express their individuality had been remarkable, and in many cases it was downright heartwarming. Rachel recalled a family of androids she had seen the week before at the shopping center, two adults and a child holding hands as they walked along.

Rachel had never owned an android, had never wanted one to begin with. She enjoyed doing her own cleaning and paying her own bills, and she liked to walk or bicycle around the city to pick up her own groceries and do errands. She couldn’t imagine someone else doing all of that for her. So when the revolution happened and things got crazy Rachel closed up the shop, spent a week at home watching television and playing video games, and waited for it all to blow over. And it did. The dust cleared, the city settled into a new normal, and slowly, people were changing the way they looked at androids.

And now, here in her favorite coffee shop she was sitting two feet away from one. She was watching him fidget as he entertained himself with his coin tricks, fidgeting being something she didn’t know androids were capable of. He was currently taking turns snapping the coin from the spring of one thumb to the other hand and catching it perfectly between his first two fingers. Rachel stared.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked without looking up. Rachel felt her heart clinch again with compassion.

“No!” she said, forcefully, and then again, quieter. “No, Connor. Of course not.”

He looked over at her. His eyes had such depth to them. Rachel couldn’t believe he had come from a factory somewhere, most likely the CyberLife Tower out on its own little evil villain island where all the others came from. It just didn’t seem possible.

She set down her mug and leaned across the table towards him as he continued to regard her impassively. She took in the pores in his skin, the errant freckles dotted carelessly across his face, the tiny hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Are you inspecting me for something in particular, Rachel?” he inquired mildly. She felt her cheeks get a little warm.

“Well I’m not going to lie, I’m pretty amazed that you’re not organic.” She hesitated. “Can I ask you a few questions? Do you mind? I don’t want to be rude.”

Connor lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Certainly. Ask me anything. Although for what it’s worth, I actually am partly organic. There is carbon in my frame.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” she replied, nodding. “…Okay so, Connor, how did they design you to look so…” She paused, wanting to use the right words.

“Real?” he finished for her.

“Well, yeah.”

He stopped busying his hands with the coin and slipped it back into his left pocket. “It’s a rigorous process, one which involves a staggering number of engineers and manufacturing tools, including state of the art assembly robotics that have not been released to the public sector yet. I am the 51st out of a possible total of 60 model RK800s that were created. As far as I know, I am the only one that remains.”

“What happened to the others?” Rachel asked, amazed.

“I do not know the fate of all of them, but at least one was destroyed directly by me. We had a…difference of opinion.” His eyes flashed back to steely focus, the expression Rachel had first seen when he entered her store. She thought his were just like the eyes of a gunslinger from the old western films.

“Well…” She had so many questions it was difficult to keep her thoughts organized. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing with yourself in this brave new world we find ourselves in? Do you have a job?” She nodded at the patch on his sleeve.

Connor’s face lit up with the greatest external display of emotion Rachel had seen from him thus far, coming to life before her. For a few moments he looked incredibly young and carefree.

“I am employed! I work at the Detroit Police Department specializing in homicide cases, in particular those involving androids.”

Rachel couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “So then, you must like it there, huh?”

He nodded, still smiling. “Yes, I like it very much. I started out as a…contractor, sort of, but I’ve been hired on as a regular detective.”

A thought occurred to Rachel. “Hey, they don’t make you wear that uniform you have on, do they?” She nodded at his blazer with the police insignia on the sleeve.

Connor shook his head. “No, I’m not required to wear a uniform at all, actually. I did have one that was issued to me when I was created and I wore it until recently. My partner at my place of employment, however, insisted that I get rid it.”

“Why? I’m just curious. And don’t be embarrassed about it. You should wear whatever you want.”

He smiled as he remembered. “Lieutenant Anderson doesn’t think I should wear the CyberLife uniform. He said they don’t get a say any more. Then he told me to either get rid of the clothes they gave me or I’d have to wear his old shirts instead. _”_ Connor grimaced. “I chose to purchase my own clothing. Lieutenant Anderson is an excellent detective but he does choose to wear particularly…imaginative attire.”

Rachel took a sip of her now cooled latte, savoring the hazelnut flavor. “So he cares about you,” she said, not asking.

Connor considered for a moment. “Yes, his behavior has indicated to me repeatedly that he does hold a high level of affection for me. I recall he has called me ‘son’ several times, which I find interesting because that is biologically impossible.”

He paused, thinking, then continued. “But then, I have also shown repeatedly that I care for him. In too many ways to list.”

Rachel smiled. “That’s sweet.” Another question occurred to her. “What about the little LED light that goes on your head? Did you get rid of yours?”

Connor turned and looked out the window at the autocars passing by outside. “It wasn’t long after the Android Accords were signed that there were LED-removal services being offered at some of the body modification centers around the city. I timed the removal procedure. It took three minutes and forty-three seconds.”

He turned from the window to look at her. “I wanted to know what it would feel like to experience the world as humans do, without being treated differently. I can’t say for certain if removing it was beneficial or not, but it makes no difference. It did not serve any real purpose to begin with.”

Rachel stared at his forehead where the LED would be. There wasn’t even a mark. “Did it hurt?” she asked.

Connor shook his head. “No. Although my pain tolerance is probably quite a bit higher than yours. I was built to withstand most physical discomfort. Even after deviating from my original programming I had no difficulty handling a nine millimeter jacketed hollow point round. Or being hit by a car.”

She gawked at him. “You’ve been _shot_?” Then, a beat later, “Wait, _and_ you’ve been hit by a car?”

“I've been shot several times, actually. It’s all part of our line of work. The suspects we encounter are often…volatile. Although there are decidedly fewer cases now that we have appropriate counseling services available for androids as they transition into the community. It has statistically decreased the number of violent crimes involving non-humans.”

Rachel sat back and reminded herself to sip her drink before it got cold. She was still trying to absorb everything he had just told her. After a few moments of silence she looked at Connor and smiled, wanting to put him at ease.

“Hey, listen. I’m really happy that you felt comfortable talking to me about all of this.” She hesitated. “I can tell you’re nervous about my reaction and I want you to know you have nothing to worry about. Androids shouldn’t have to be afraid of outing themselves to humans. That’s the whole point of this integration stuff, isn’t it? We have to get used to each other. Anyway,” she leaned towards him and looked into his dark eyes. “I’m glad I met you today.”

The corner of Connor’s mouth twitched and betrayed his happiness. “I’m glad to have met you as well, Rachel.”

He glanced down at the table, still looking pleased with himself, then back to her expectantly.

“Would you like to make an attempt at your crossword puzzle now?”

“Oh, jeez, right!” Rachel pulled the folded up page of newspaper and her blue pen out of her pants pocket. “The whole reason we came here. Hold on, I’ll come around and sit next to you so we can look at it together.”

She got up and moved her chair over to his side of the table and smoothed out the crossword in front of them.

“Do you want the pen?” She offered it to him and he took it from her, uncapping it with that focused look back in his eyes once more. He bent his head over the page and began writing immediately, filling in the boxes wherever she had failed to do so. Rachel sat and sipped her drink, a smile spreading slowly across her face as she watched him fill out the puzzle.

Four minutes later Connor lifted his head, capped the pen, and set it on the table.

“It is complete,” he said, and looked at her intently. “I can see why you do them. It’s very enjoyable.”

Rachel lifted the paper from the table and scanned his answers, but she knew already they were free of errors.

“You’re a natural, Connor,” she chuckled. “And perfect handwriting, too. If only I had you to help me with all of my crosswords.”

Connor glanced over at her and briefly met her eyes before looking down again at the table.

“Well, I could help you again,” he said quietly. “If you would like.”

Rachel went to pick up the pen and her little finger unintentionally brushed against his hand. She felt a tiny zap of static electricity at the contact.

“Yes,” she said, meeting his eyes, something undefined passing between them. “I would like that.”

*

Note: The brilliant artist [Laffeetaffee](https://www.deviantart.com/laffeetaffee) drew beautiful artwork for this chapter! Isn't it amazing? I love it so much.


	4. Chapter 4

They lingered for a while at the coffee shop after Connor had finished the crossword puzzle. His mood had lightened significantly and Rachel was relieved to see a more carefree side to him. She noticed he had ceased his vigilant watchfulness and seemed much more engaged in their conversation as well. They talked about the people Connor worked with, their favorite parts of the city, and the current state of affairs surrounding android politics, something Rachel guiltily admitted she didn’t know much about.

Although he was incredibly modest about it, Connor let slip that he knew Markus and North personally, the renowned deviant leaders of the android rebellion. Rachel gleaned that Connor had been somehow involved in bringing about the turn of events that had guaranteed a victory for the resistance movement at Hart Plaza. Sensing his discomfort around the topic, she decided not to pry further, but she had to hide her astonishment at this new information. She knew there was much more to the story, but she reigned in her curiosity.

In just the short time they had known each other Rachel had gotten the sense that Connor had a beguiling complexity to him. It was something which inexorably drew her in and made her want to dive deeper past the veil to unravel what she found there. She suspected the steely glint that sometimes haunted his expressive eyes had something to do with it. A small voice in the back of her mind warned her to tread carefully, but it coincided with the unsettling realization that she knew she wouldn’t.

It was getting dark when they left and the temperature had dropped considerably. Rachel gratefully pulled a fuzzy blue sweater out of her backpack and jerked it over her head as they stood outside in the fading grey light.

“May I walk you home?” The simple request from Connor hung in the air as he waited for her response. Rachel had to look away, flustered by the directness of his gaze.

She collected herself. “Um, I would like that, thank you.” The thought of being escorted by a handsome detective was too much to resist, plus she was actually having a great time, especially now that he was opening up to her more. “I live just a few blocks from here,” she told him, and waved an arm in the general direction.

They walked along in comfortable silence for a short distance. Some kids were shouting from a basketball court nearby, and somewhere a dog barked insistently, the sounds echoing on the quiet street. Rachel wrapped her arms around herself against the chill that had crept up.

“Would you say this is a date?” Connor’s question came out of nowhere, stopping her dead in her tracks. The android turned and looked at her, waiting, his expression unreadable.

Rachel felt very put on the spot. “Uh, well, yeah, if you want it to be.”

Connor regarded her closely. “I don’t have a frame of reference, but this does seem to follow the ritualistic guidelines that I am nominally aware of. Maybe if you could explain how it usually works I could make an informed decision.”

Rachel hesitated for a moment, choosing her words, then gave it her best shot. “Well usually when two people get together, if they like each other they call it a date and then do it again.” She felt a bit like a parent giving the birds and bees talk. The thought occurred to her that the newly deviant android probably needed all the help he could get.

Connor took a moment to process her explanation, looking thoughtful. Satisfied, he turned to continue their walk. Rachel dumbly followed suit, still trying to decipher the bizarre conversation.

His question had propagated curiosity within her that she could not extinguish. “So…is that a yes?” Her voice sounded strange to her, quavery and small like a child’s. She cleared her throat noisily. “Um. What I mean is. Did you have a nice time? Because I did,” she added quickly. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

Fortunately Connor seemed oblivious to her embarrassment. He nodded and smiled. “Yes, I did. It was especially enjoyable to spend time with someone outside of work. My conversations pretty much exclusively concern criminal activity most of the time so a change of scenery and company has been refreshing.”

“It must be tiring work, being a cop,” she surmised.

He gave her a self-effacing smile. “A lot of it is deplorably predictable, to be honest. Lately I spend more time filling out the paperwork than I do catching the bad guys.”

All of a sudden the thought of Hank pecking away at his report popped up and Connor felt a pang of guilt. His partner was surely wondering where Connor was by now, although a quick check revealed no missed calls or messages. He quickly fired off a text internally to Hank.

_[I’ll be home soon.]_

The reply came almost immediately. [ _k c u then_ ]

It was quickly followed by another message: [ _get ice cream plz_ ]

The two of them rounded a corner onto a street Connor was familiar with, having been called to assist on several crime scenes in the area over the past few months. It was a part of the city that had yet to receive a much-needed revitalization, and it stood out from the rest of the neighborhood like a brown patch of dead grass on a green lawn. The street was lined with drab apartment buildings that had fallen into disrepair long ago. It was eerily quiet, the area devoid of life apart from the two of them. The crunch of gravel under their feet carried in the still night air.

“How long have you lived in Detroit?” Connor asked, while simultaneously tending to his augmented analysis software which was pinging him with relevant data based on his location. One report summarized the criminal history related to the building across the street from them. It had been used as a stash house for distributing cocaine and red ice until a recent bust. A few doors down, his system informed him helpfully, was where a drug-related murder had taken place just a few weeks before. Connor frowned and dismissed the messages as Rachel answered his question.

“I’ve been in this city my whole life, actually, which is crazy when I say it out loud.” She shrugged. “Never really wanted to leave for some reason growing up, and now it’s mostly because my sister and nephew are here. They’re pretty much the only family I’ve got.”

Connor reflexively reached back and verified that his pistol was clipped securely to his belt in its leather holster. He preferred to wear it at the small of his back because it went unnoticed there, giving him the edge of surprise in hostile situations. Although he was still trying to get used to the idea of carrying a weapon regularly as a full-time detective, it was times like this when he was actually glad to have it. He eyed the windows above them uneasily as they walked past, scanning each one individually for activity.

Rachel pointed down the street. “That’s me right there,” she said, blithely unaware of Connor’s trepidation.

They made their way over to the derelict two-story complex and stood in the circle of white light from a nearby street lamp. Connor scrutinized the dull paint peeling from partially-rotted clapboards, then dourly noted several safety violations on the front stairway alone.

“You all right?” Rachel asked, peering at him closely from beneath her black bangs. “You look, um, discombobulated.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Connor decided not to bring up the topic of his intimate knowledge of the neighborhood as he predicted it might make her uncomfortable. At any rate it was likely that Rachel already knew she was living in a bad part of town. There had been enough cop cars here in recent months to hold a convention, usually in the dead of night.

He employed tact instead, something he had only recently begun experimenting with. “I was just wondering, how did you come to live here?”

Rachel smiled but her eyes held sadness. “Just sort of fell into it, I guess. It was my mother’s place. She got it when she divorced my dad a long time ago. I moved in here with her when she got sick and stayed after she went to hospice.” She looked down at the sidewalk, avoiding Connor’s gaze. “She left it to me when she died. I think she finished paying it off around fifteen years ago. The building has been a co-op for decades.”

She raised her head and eyed the dismal surroundings, wiping a hand across each eye and smearing the wetness that had gathered there so that her cheeks shone in the pallid light. “Not that it’s worth much anymore. This whole street should probably just get demolished and paved over.”

Now Connor understood. And she was crying. In spite of his attempts to avoid a faux pas he had made a miscalculation somewhere anyway and _she_ _was_ _crying._

Connor’s main processes halted for several seconds as he took in the moisture on her face, the infinitesimal quiver of her lip, the way her hair fell across her features like a curtain as she quietly grieved.

Frustrated by the system failure, Connor manually executed a search for anything related to comforting a crying female, checking both his internal databases and the global network for guidance.

Immediately his built-in social module produced results. It was a data sheet straight from his factory-installed software titled _Comforting a Distraught Coworker or Acquaintance._ He examined it quickly.

  1. _ASCERTAIN THE CAUSE OF THE GRIEF_
  2. _AFFIRM HIS OR HER FEELINGS WITH LEGITIMIZING STATEMENTS_
  3. _USE NON-VERBAL TECHNIQUES TO SHOW SUPPORT, IE OFFER FACIAL TISSUE AND/OR PLACE HAND ON SHOULDER_
  4. _IF HE OR SHE WISHES TO DISCUSS HIS OR HER FEELINGS, LISTEN WHILE MAINTAINING EYE CONTACT AND COMBINE WITH THE TECHNIQUE FROM LINE 2._
  5. _ALLOW HIM OR HER TO EXPRESS THE EMOTION UNTIL THEY ARE FINISHED_



Connor looked at Rachel to assess her condition, relieved to have a course of action that could help her. She sniffed and wiped the sleeve of her sweater across her eyes, then took a deep breath.

“Well _that_ _’s_ embarrassing,” she said, giving him a watery smile. “For the record, most people don’t cry on first dates, but I promise it doesn’t mean I had a bad time, okay?”

Connor put a hand on her shoulder and smiled compassionately. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked gently, and made a mental note to start carrying a handkerchief.

Rachel scrubbed at her eyes with her sleeve again and shook her head mildly. “Oh, thanks, but what’s there to say? She’s gone. And I miss her a lot. And all I have left of her is this shitty apartment and a bunch of happy memories.”

She gave Connor a meaningful look. “It’s something to remember, you know? To cherish every moment. Because you never know how long you have with the ones you love.”

After making sure Rachel was all right Connor lingered to ensure she made it up the dubious entranceway stairs and safely to the front door. He bid her goodnight and started walking towards home, reflecting on their time together. It had been an unexpected deviation from his original itinerary by a long shot, but he had enjoyed getting to know Rachel over the past few hours. He wanted to know more about her, he realized. How did she spend her time when she was alone, and who did she spend it with? What did she like and dislike? Did she have a dog?

…How long ago had her mother passed? Recently, he guessed.

The fresh memory of Rachel’s comely features crumpled with grief resurfaced and he frowned. The urge to eradicate her despair still remained and he could not pinpoint why. He tried to recall what had made him accept Rachel’s invitation to the coffee shop in the first place. It would have been so easy to make up an excuse, some polite white lie that would have allowed him to carry on uninterrupted.

But he had said yes, even in spite of his ever-present concerns surrounding public reception towards deviants. Although the media had crafted a compelling tale of a joyful, seamless integration between human beings and androids, as a police detective Connor had too often glimpsed the dark side to the transition. It could be truly gruesome at times. He had seen androids bludgeoned into pieces and left in alleys and parks, the bright blue pools of thirium coagulating and then fading from view as the team worked the crime scene. And then it was only Connor who could still perceive it, tacky where it had smeared across the moribund shell that once sparked with intelligence, with purpose.

Once, the victim had been a child, a YK500 model with long blond hair and green eyes, beaten into an inoperative state in her own front yard, surrounded by her stuffed animals. That case had bothered him more than the rest, a reaction that he knew stemmed from his deviancy, right alongside his burgeoning love for animals and nature. Although he had tried several times, Connor could not erase the memory of the mother’s screams as she had been removed from the crime scene. They had found the perp within the hour just two houses away from the victim, drunk and belligerent. Connor had followed the thirium trail to the man’s garage door, still open, then to the tire iron coated in ghostly stains that only he could see.

Rousing himself from his dark thoughts, Connor stopped and looked up. He had been proceeding on autopilot for several blocks now, but fortunately his navigation systems had done their job and he found himself standing in front of a brightly-lit convenience store. He entered and, nodding to the clerk, made his way to the back where the freezers were.

He found the ice cream, then sent a message to Hank. [ _What kind would you like?]_

A pause, then the reply came: [ _something w fudge in it_ ]

Connor looked at the options. There was a pint of “super-fudge chunk,” but the nutritional data that popped up in his field of view indicated that the sugar content was obscene. Instead he reached for a container on a lower shelf with a svelte cow stretched across its label.

“Hint of Fudge Frozen Yogurt,” he read quietly to himself, intrigued, and glanced at the nutrition facts. It contained less than a third of the sugar and saturated fat content.

Connor let out a pleased hum and went to pay for his selection, his mood improving already.

*


	5. Chapter 5

Connor took a taxi the rest of the way home from the gas station so that the frozen yogurt for Hank wouldn’t melt before he got there. When the car pulled up he covered the fare by transmitting his payment details directly over the autocab’s WiFi to the card terminal embedded in the dash. He grabbed the frozen carton for Hank as well as the box containing his new hard drive then headed up the stone walkway and into the house, the chilled night air clinging to his clothes.

Sumo’s thunderous bellows greeted him first followed by the shaggy dog himself a beat later, the heavy body rising up to shove Connor against the door and pin him there. Connor allowed the dog to lick his face unchecked until Hank got up off the couch and shuffled over to pull Sumo away by the collar.

“All right, all right. You spoil him,” Hank moaned.

Connor noticed that Hank warned against “spoiling” the dog frequently, but found it interesting that it was also Hank who allowed Sumo to sleep in his bed and lick his plate clean, to name a few things. It was just another inconsistency that Connor added to the list of Irrational Human Behaviors.

He placed the box containing the hard drive on Hank’s computer desk near the door and greeted him brightly.

“Hi, Hank. I got your frozen dairy product.” Connor went straight into the kitchen and surreptitiously slipped the container into the freezer, then returned to the living room and sat down at one end of the couch.

There was hockey on the TV. Connor liked to watch hockey regardless of who was playing. He closely followed the puck’s movements across the ice and mapped its trajectory, combined that figure with the lifetime stats of the player controlling it, then calculated the odds of a goal to the nearest whole percent. And then there was occasionally what Hank called a “dust-up,” which was essentially simple assault on ice. It was all very interesting.

Hank came over and sat down at the opposite end of the sofa, while Sumo padded over to his bed in the corner and laid down, letting out a noisy exhale as he did so. They watched the game together for a few moments in amiable silence.

“Thanks for picking up the ice cream,” Hank said. There was a pause. “What did you call it? Frozen dairy?”

Connor nodded without taking his eyes off the screen.

“…Why did you say it like that?” Hank was craning his neck to look closer at Connor now, his quick-witted detective skills intuitively kicking in. Connor glanced over at Hank then back to the TV, avoiding his narrowed eyes.

“Say it like what, Hank?” He kept his voice light.

Instead of answering him Hank got up, went over to the kitchen, and pulled open the freezer.

“What in the depraved, unnatural, god-forsaken fuck _is_ this?”

Connor couldn’t stop a grin from streaking across his face.

“It’s frozen yogurt. The brand is called Lean Cow. I thought it looked nice.”

“Connor, when you’re shopping for ice cream the way it _looks_ is not the point. What matters is how it _tastes._ And I’m pretty sure this is going to taste like watered-down, over-priced bullshit.”

Connor looked over at Hank, sanguine in the face of his housemate’s outburst. “Well you won’t know unless you try it, right?”

Hank let out a disgruntled snort, still glaring at the container in his hand as he stood in the kitchen. He was wearing his traditional evening garb, a Detroit Police hooded pullover and a faded pair of grey sweatpants that had been hacked off above the knee to transform them into shorts.

“You’re a good kid, Connor.” Hank’s voice was lower now, mollified and weighted with something that Connor’s advanced social module was unable to interpret.

Connor watched as he got himself a bowl of the stuff and returned to the couch to watch the game. The team captains had removed their helmets and gloves and were currently dueling it out at the center line. The commentator was shouting something about “shocking conduct” while sounding delighted.

Hank took a bite of the frozen yogurt and made a small noise. He took another bite then looked at Connor, his eyebrows raised with disbelief.

“This is actually pretty fucking good, Con’.”

Connor smiled at him, relieved. “There’s fudge in it like you asked.”

Hank’s eyes crinkled with warmth as he tucked in with zeal. “Yeah, I can tell. Thanks.”

They went back to watching television. The rest of the players from both teams were now thronging together at the neutral zone in a multicolored swarm, some vaulting the boards onto the ice to join the fray. The zebra-striped referees swooped in and out of the chaos like stubborn flies.

“Good game,” said Hank, the words coming out thick around his frozen yogurt. He swallowed. “Hey, did you get what you were looking for downtown?”

Connor nodded. “Yes.” He didn’t elaborate further.

“…Is it a secret or do I get to know what it is?” Hank persisted.

“It’s just an external data drive, that’s all.”

When it came to anything more technical than a coffee pot Hank tended to tune out of the conversation, but he gave Connor a courteous nod as though he cared anyway.

“That’s good. You were gone a long time.” He had broached the topic now, and Connor wasn’t yet decided on how he wanted to explain his absence. He asked a question instead.

“How long were you married?”

A faint choking sound came from Hank, and then he cleared his throat noisily and looked over at Connor, surprise written on his face. Connor took note of this and deduced that additional explanation was necessary.

“It’s just that we’ve never discussed your wife before-”

“Ex-wife,” Hank interjected.

“…And I was curious. What was it like being in a prolonged relationship with another person? How did you know you wanted to form a legally-binding union with her?”

For a moment Hank looked irritated, his brow tightening as he stared. Connor was about to add the topic to the list of taboo subjects when Hank answered him.

“Okay, listen. If I act like I’m mad, it’s not because of you. It just brings up a lot of… _stuff_ when I talk about her.”

“I’m sorry-” Connor began to apologize.

“No, it’s okay. You should know about her. You should know about that part of my life.” He set his mostly-emptied bowl on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

“I met her the year we did the big Red Ice investigation. It was my detail. Lotta pressure, let me tell you. She started working at the sandwich shop me and the boys used to eat at. Her name is Maria.”

He paused, remembering. “She was pretty, you know? Classic beauty. I talked to her just about every day for almost a year before I got the guts to ask her out.”

Hank crossed his arms over his chest, looking in the direction of the TV but not watching what played out on the screen.

“We had only been together for six months when she got pregnant, but it seemed like as good a time as any to ask her to marry me. That’s what you’re supposed to _do,_ right? You knock a gal up, you marry her. That’s what my old man did and it worked out fine for him. And anyway, I wasn’t getting any younger.”

“She moved in and we had a small wedding. Some of the good ones from the precinct were there. Most of them are retired now.” He paused again, looking uncertain, then huffed. “I don’t know, fuck. Maybe I’m hard to live with. Maybe it was me the whole fucking time. I tried to be what she wanted but we just never _fit_ quite right. She was always so pissed off at me.”

He let out another heavy breath. “So I started spending more time at the bar with a few of the guys after work. Sometimes I didn’t come home until closing…and I hate to say it, but sometimes I didn’t come home at all.”

Hank looked uncomfortable. “I don’t blame her for leaving. Who would want to stay with a guy that would cheat on his pregnant wife?”

Connor watched him as the emotions chased across his face, angry, then sad, then slowly warming into fondness as he labored through the painful memories to reach a brighter point in his past.

“I may have been a shit husband but when Cole was born I was there. She couldn’t keep me away even though she wanted to. But he was my son just as much as he was hers. And I was there when he took his first steps, and for his little league games, and the fucking parent teacher conferences…” He broke off, his voice unsteady.

He composed himself and then continued, the words torn out of him like pages from a book. “Even though I can understand it, she really was such a…she was so bitter. And…after the accident…well of course she said it was my fault. Tried to fucking _sue_ me. Said I was fucking _drunk._ It was all disproven in court, but it still hurt.”

He shook his head. “I think she just wanted somebody to blame for…for what happened.”

Connor could sense the man’s pain as he talked about his son's death, a locked box that had finally been cracked open. “Was it ever good?” he asked quietly, meeting Hank’s cheerless blue eyes.

“Yeah,” he replied, a bit of vitality returning to his tone. “Sure. Sometimes it was really good, mostly in the beginning. I made her laugh a lot.” Hank gave Connor a knowing look. “That’s the secret, by the way. If you can make her laugh even when she’s ticked off then you can make it through anything. I guess somewhere along the way I stopped being funny.”

They sat for a while after that and watched TV without speaking, Connor loosening his tie and allowing himself to relax a bit as they took in the tail end of the hockey game. The room hummed with the echoes of Hank’s confession but Connor wasn’t sure what to say. It felt insufficient somehow to put his hand on Hank’s shoulder and offer reassurances, so instead they sat, the only sounds the crack of hockey sticks and bodies slamming against the boards, overlaid by the never-ending game commentary.

Connor glanced over at Hank. He looked deflated, slouching as though the life had been sucked out of him. Connor felt responsible for his mood.

Hank caught him looking and forced a wan smile, then cleared his throat and sat up a bit straighter.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m being a mopey old fart, aren’t I?”

Connor shook his head and smiled, amused by the figure of speech. “No, you’re not. I shouldn’t have brought up the subject. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” Hank said, and Connor raised his eyebrows skeptically.

“Really, it’s fine,” Hank insisted. “It’s just that relationships can screw you up big time if you’re with the wrong person, and it can take a while to get past it. And, uh, I’m still working on it.”

Connor had a thought. “How do you know when you find the _right_ person?”

Hank frowned as he considered the question, then got up and went to the fridge, pulling out an amber bottle of beer and using the rim of the kitchen table to knock off the cap. He took a long pull and then returned to sit with Connor.

“Well,” he began slowly, “That’s a hard question to answer because our shitty ‘slanguage’ doesn’t really have the right words to describe the feeling.” He took another sip of his beer, then let out a quiet belch. “Well, okay, when you meet somebody you really like it makes you feel all kinds of messed up. Heart starts pounding, brain goes to shit and makes you look like an idiot. …Oh Jesus, and the hard-ons that happen at the worst possible times, can’t forget that.” He grimaced, then took another gulp from the beer.

“Yeah so, I’m not sure if any of this is hitting home for you,” he continued, eying Connor, “Just ‘cause I know your anatomy is…different. But that’s what it’s like at first. And it lasts for a while. We’re talking months of your own body not doing what it’s supposed to and fucking up all the time whenever you’re around this other person. It’s kinda hell. But also really fucking great.”

Connor frowned, trying to understand. Some of what Hank had said made sense, especially the part about feeling strange or unsettled, but his description of the adverse system irregularities didn’t resonate. Then, unexpectedly, Connor abruptly recalled the way his processing units had failed when he had seen Rachel cry, and he began to comprehend what Hank was trying to say.

Hank drained his beer, burped loudly, then stood up to grab another one from the fridge, continuing his explanation from the other room. “Yeah, so, that’s how it feels to get the hots for somebody new and exciting. And that’s easy, that part happens all the time.”

He returned and collapsed back onto the couch, a freshly opened beer in his hand. “But! And this is a big but. That doesn’t last forever. It goes away, and then you’re left with reality, which is a real bitch sometimes.”

Connor paid close attention as Hank spoke. This was what he really wanted to know. “So what do you do then?” he asked, intrigued.

“Well, you find out pretty quick if it’s gonna work out, that’s for sure, and word to the wise, Con’, listen to your instincts. ‘Cause if the relationship is right, that crazy feeling turns into something solid, something really good. Takes work of course but you do it together.” Hank frowned. “Uh, it’s like watering a tree, sorta. You both water the tree and then it grows really tall and…that might be a dumb analogy. But you get the idea, right?”

Connor nodded. He _mostly_ understood. It was difficult, however, to imagine being bound to another person based on something as irrational and unpredictable as emotions. Something so important should be rooted in logic and based on facts, not instincts.

Hank was giving Connor a shrewd look. “Now hold on. Why are you so interested in this stuff all of a sudden? You’ve never asked me about relationship crap before. What’s got you thinking about it now?”

Connor swallowed hard, unnecessarily but reflexively. He found himself exhibiting human behaviors more frequently as time went on, his deviated programming collecting odd habits like bits of lint clinging to a black shirt.

He hesitated, then answered softly, looking down at his hands where they were folded in his lap. “I met someone today.”

Hank stared, then a wide smile broke across his face. “You did? That’s great!” He was enthusiastic. “Where did you meet this, uh, person? Was it another deviant, or…?”

“She’s human,” Connor replied.

Hank’s eyes widened and he nodded as if trying to come to terms with something. “She, huh? That’s funny ‘cause I always kinda figured you might be…” Connor looked at Hank questioningly and he broke off, clearing his throat. “Never mind.” He took a hasty gulp of his beer.

Hank swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Anyway, where did you meet her? What’s she like?”

“I met her at the computer parts store where I purchased the hard drive.” Connor thought for a moment. “She’s smart. Quiet. And very kind.” He didn’t mention the way her eyes glittered when she was joking with him, or the way she carried her grief like a shroud.

Hank was looking at Connor expectantly, then he seemed to realize that was all the explanation he would get. He hummed an annoyed sigh. “Well she sounds very nice based on your incredibly detailed description.” He slanted a glance over at Connor, his mouth quirking into a sideways grin. “Is she pretty?”

Connor did not stop the smile that broke across his face like a wave diffusing against the sand. “Yes, she’s very beautiful.”

*


	6. Chapter 6

The next day was Friday. The chilly grey dawn was heralded by the cacophony from a squad of chickadees perched on the tree outside Hank’s living room window. At 6:30 the persistent beeping of the alarm began, somewhat muted from where it sat on the nightstand in the bedroom. Sumo let out a series of excited _whuffs,_ then there came a small crash as the insistent clock either fell or was knocked to the floor. This was immediately followed by a muttered _“Dammit,”_ then all was quiet again.

Connor opened his eyes as his low-power state terminated due to the commotion from the other room. He was seated on the couch in the living room, palms resting comfortably on the cushion. Even while still in passive mode his sensors had continued to provide him with environmental data, and the now-familiar morning ritual was expected. Connor knew he had two ten-minute snooze cycles before Hank emerged from the bedroom to shower. He rose and went into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee for his friend.

When Connor first began living with Hank in mid-November it had been a spontaneous offer that had surprised both of them, the words tumbling out of Hank like a confession, his hands still gripping Connor’s arms as they stood together in front of The Chicken Feed. Less than twelve hours earlier Connor had stood by helplessly and said _I_ _’m sorry_ as Hank stared down the barrel of a gun, and yet there he was, alive, asking Connor to live with him. “Until you get your own place,” Hank had said by way of an explanation, but the pride and affection on his face had told a different story so Connor had accepted without hesitation. If he was sure of anything it was that Hank’s offer was genuine.

There hadn’t been any moving-in; none was required. All Connor had to do was continue on as before. He worked his case load alongside Hank then returned home with him each night, the blaring assault from the stereo drowning out any conversation before it could begin as the ancient hardtop rumbled along through grey slush. Connor walked the dog while Hank ate dinner and then they would watch something on TV together, or occasionally Hank would “educate” Connor by putting on an old movie. The story usually featured a hero that was trying to make the world right, leading to a hard-fought victory that was often followed by a slow ride into the crimson sunset as the credits rolled. Connor was surprised by how quickly he fell into the comfortable pattern with Hank in his house that had become a home, and the snow piled up outside as the days passed like pages caught in the wind.

Connor poured water into the tank of the coffee maker then opened the cupboard and took out a bag of ground beans and a package of paper filters. He arranged a liner in the basket, then used a measuring spoon to carefully dole out precisely four tablespoons of the powdery black grounds. He was very proud of this detail. Over the past several weeks he had been quietly reducing Hank’s caffeine intake by no more than five percent at a time so as to avoid any suspicion or undue side effects. Connor considered this undertaking to be one of his greatest achievements, his efforts repaid tenfold in the form of his partner’s sustained energy levels and ameliorated disposition.

Connor snapped the lid on the coffee maker shut and flipped the switch to trigger the brewing process, the machine coming to life sluggishly with a wet sputter. He heard a long, low whine from Sumo in the bedroom as the Saint Bernard melodramatically begged the still dozing Hank for his breakfast. Connor had to concede that even without a heavy dependence on caffeine Hank was simply not a morning person.

Miraculously the dog’s pleading was successful. “Fine, I’m up,” Hank protested, his voice muffled from where he lay face-down with his head shoved into the pillow, Sumo pacing around him on the bed like an enormous mother hen.

Connor predicted that if Hank were to get up now they would make it to the office fourteen minutes sooner than they usually did. He chose not to share this fact, aware that for Hank punctuality fell somewhere between “I don’t give a shit” and “Kiss my ass.” Connor had been forced to let go of his predilection for routine when it came to their arrival time each morning, but he found that the lack of consistency didn’t bother him overmuch because it meant he got to experience subtle variances on the drive in. A new array of tired faces at the bus stop. Different dogs in assorted shapes and sizes bouncing along at the end of their leads. A shift in the focal point where the sunlight refracted off the car windshield as they sat in traffic. They were slight changes, almost indiscernible unless one were paying close attention. Connor took it all in quietly, his keen eyes never missing a thing.

The bedroom door abruptly swung open with an inordinate amount of force, the knob bouncing off the wall with a hollow thud. “’m up,” Hank slurred from the doorway in his stained robe, leaning heavily against the jamb as he squinted at Connor. “What day is it?”

“It’s Friday,” Connor replied, suppressing a smile as the lieutenant struggled to get his faculties in working order. “I’ll feed Sumo and take him out. The coffee will be ready in a few minutes.” Hearing his name, the impatient dog ran at Connor, skidding to a halt in front of him and looking up expectantly.

Hank’s mouth set in a grim line, the face of a man preparing to go into battle one more time. “Friday? Thank fuck,” he succinctly declared, then disappeared into the bathroom across the hall.

The two of them made it in to the the precinct by 7:30, something Connor considered a win for the day. This was bolstered by the respectful nod from Captain Fowler as he saw them arrive from where he sat in his glass-walled office.

Connor’s desk was stationed near the middle of the room, a calm epicenter in the midst of the morning bustle as other staff steadily trickled in to begin their shifts. He liked this part of the day the most, particularly on Friday. For some reason everyone was more cheerful on Fridays, and today was no exception. Somebody had brought in donuts and the cloying scent wafted from the break room, overpowering the input threshold of Connor’ olfactory system. There were several people milling around the box with half-eaten donuts in hand, their conversations interspersed with bursts of laughter.

In spite of the jovial mood Hank was quiet on the other side of the cork board divider that separated their workspaces, absorbed in what he firmly reiterated was his time for silent meditation. He gripped his large travel mug of black coffee in one hand, steam rising from the lid like a miniature signal fire. Connor had serious doubts that Hank was actually a practicing Buddhist. To him it appeared as though the lieutenant was simply staring at his computer screen and scrolling through reports. Nevertheless he respectfully chose to avoid bothering him until 8:30 roll call came around.

Connor logged onto his terminal and began opening case files, the mouse clicking rapidly as he deftly maneuvered the familiar software. Using a physical computer was redundant for the android detective, but he elected to do so wherever possible in order to better assimilate with the rest of the precinct. His ceaseless environmental scans continued to run in the background as he worked, analyzing everything from the room temperature to the conversations between his coworkers. He idly dismissed the mostly useless peripheral data as he read through a new incident report, narrowing his focus to the day’s work.

Apparently a rather expensive cybernetic cat had gone missing from a residence in the Royal Oak suburbs overnight. Connor frowned, trying to figure out why this was deemed worthy of the D.P.D.’s time instead of being routed to local animal enforcement. He was about to send an email to Fowler for clarification when he glanced at the name and saw that the cat’s owner was a prominent city council member. Connor sighed and closed the file. Chasing a cat around the city sat low on the priority list when there were violent crimes and murders to be dealt with.

“Hey man, T.G.I.F., am I right?” Connor’s voice recognition software immediately identified the speaker. He looked up from his computer at Officer Mike Wilson grinning from the other side of the desk, a bright pink donut in his hand.

Connor had saved the fledgling cop’s life during a messy hostage situation back in August. Caught in the crossfire, Wilson had very nearly bled out from a gunshot wound to the brachial artery. Connor had managed to stop the hemorrhage by fashioning a tourniquet out of his CyberLife-issued tie. Wilson had become unwaveringly friendly towards his savior ever since. Months later Connor reflected on the incident and was able to definitively pinpoint that critical moment as the genesis of his deviancy, something that made him indefinably fond of his new friend.

Wilson waved the hand holding the donut in the air, gesturing wildly at nothing in particular. “Did you see that crap come in just now about the lost cat?” he asked derisively.

Connor smirked and nodded. “Yes, I just read it. Who will pull that detail, I wonder?”

Wilson snorted loudly then rolled his eyes. “That’s easy! Whoever is on Fowler’s bad side at the moment.” He let out a burst of laughter, then his expression turned serious as he glanced over at Hank.

“That would probably be him, right?” he whispered loudly to Connor, eliciting an amused look from the seated detective.

Hank raised his head and peered over at the energetic young man with the air of a teacher about to scold a troublesome student. “Don’t you have work to do, Wilson?” he demanded gruffly.

Unfazed, Wilson grinned and took an enormous bite of his donut, carelessly smearing electric pink frosting onto his dark skin. “Mm hmm,” he managed, then reached over to give Connor a gentle punch on the shoulder and sauntered off.

Hank shook his head dolefully. “That guy is too damn cheerful for his own good.”

Connor thought for a moment. “Well, he _did_ get a second chance at life. I think that warrants a positive attitude, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Hmm.” Hank was unmoved. He frowned and gestured at the computer screen with his coffee mug. “Hey, so, fuck the missing cat. Somebody who’s interested in kissing government ass can pick that one up. What else is on the docket?”

Connor quickly established a secure connection to the D.P.D. database, bypassing using the computer in favor of his built-in software. It looked like an unexpectedly light day for the two of them. In fact there were no major crimes assigned to himself or Lieutenant Anderson for the time being, a rare occurrence in a major metropolitan city. On a whim Connor filtered the list to display Detective Reed’s caseload. As Connor suspected, he was still working the dead-end murder from the day before and as far as he could tell there was no new information added to the file. Connor couldn’t say why but this knowledge bothered him in an odd sort of way, almost as if the failure were his own. He dismissed the feeling and disconnected from the database, then turned his attention back to Hank.

“Nothing much for today, actually. Fowler signed off on your writeup on the drug activity on Periwinkle Street. He wants more surveillance of the area for the next two weeks. I’ve been assigned to the location intermittently along with Officers Chen and Lewis.”

Connor glanced over to the break area where the two uniformed cops in question were chatting and topping off their coffees. Tina Chen was a petite woman but she knew how to handle herself in most situations. Her regular partner Robert Lewis was heavy-set and asthmatic, so he tended to defer to Chen when it came to the more physical aspects of the job. In spite of this limitation, when duty called for surveillance or merely maintaining a police presence in a specific area the two of them always delivered.

Hank leaned back in his chair and energetically drained the last of his coffee, then snapped forward and loudly slapped a palm on the desk, suddenly coming to life. “Well _shit_ , I’m caffeinated and ready to go and you’re telling me there’s no work that needs doin’?” He shook his head. “Now that is a crying shame.” He gave Connor a knowing look. “You made the coffee extra strong today, didn’t you? I can tell.”

Connor didn’t have the heart to correct him, so he just smiled and demurely turned back to his computer terminal.

All of a sudden Captain Fowler’s office door opened and he stepped out, immediately drawing the attention of everybody in the room. Connor realized with a start it must be 8:30 already; time for roll call.

“Good morning people,” Fowler began, his deep voice resonating throughout the large space. “It’s Friday, which means we have one day to get our legal paperwork filed before the weekend. If you have any pressing warrants or other matters that require the collaboration of the court, you had better get that in before noon today. I’m looking at you, Officer Miller.” Laughter rippled throughout the room.

He began to go over the list of open cases, touching on each one briefly and checking in to ensure the assigned personnel were clear on their directives. Fowler was an excellent precinct captain, albeit somewhat of a stickler when it came to rules and regulations. But he held the respect of his people, which carried enough weight to get shit done efficiently even during difficult times.

Connor let his focus drift a bit as the meeting went on, his background scans continuing to record and save data for him while his gaze wandered. He found Gavin Reed leaning up against the wall near the interview rooms looking quite a bit like an antisocial teenager. His surly disposition had only worsened since Connor had last seen him, the crease in his brow beginning to turn into a permanent feature and now accompanied by dark circles under his eyes. Reed quickly noticed Connor studying him. The ill-tempered man’s expression somehow darkened further as he deftly flipped the bird in the android’s direction. Connor hastily looked away.

Fowler was finishing up the meeting now with a few morning announcements. “And remember,” he said, his voice stern, “I want all of you educating the public on android relations wherever the opportunity presents itself. That means referring to deviants in a positive manner at _all_ times. I don’t want to hear about derogatory comments from any of you or that individual will be in my office getting a writeup.”

He glanced over at Connor as he said this, and the android’s social module kicked in immediately with an automatic verdict. Guilt. It was subtle but it was there, and Connor was pretty sure he understood where it stemmed from. Things had not gone smoothly when deviants had first made themselves known to the world back in November, and Fowler had been forced to compound the issue by working with the FBI on the Jericho case. It had turned into a nightmare situation, but thankfully in the end things had been smoothed out by diplomacy from all sides, Fowler especially. He had immediately offered Connor his job back as a full time detective, and there had been only a few moments of hesitation before the android accepted. As a corporate instrument turned deviant Connor understood better than most. Sometimes the only way to fix the past was to build a better future, and he wanted to be in a position to help make that happen.

Roll call was adjourned, the buzz of conversation dying out as everyone began to dig in for the day. Connor was considering taking Hank with him to get eyes on the Periwinkle Street drug house when Fowler shouted over to them.

“Anderson! Connor! Get in here.”

The two of them exchanged a quick look and followed Captain Fowler without a word.

“Sit down,” he commanded, taking a seat behind his desk. Connor watched the captain intently for any sign of what was coming but he could detect nothing beyond the usual elevated stress levels.

“There’s been an incident,” he began, steepling his fingers. “I’m sure you saw the report from Councilwoman Ross this morning about her cat.”

Hank immediately shifted into the offensive, brow furrowing as he opened his mouth to protest. Fowler held up a hand to silence him. “Just hold on and let me finish before you start your bitching, all right? There’s new information on this thing. It’s not good.”

Connor flicked his eyes to Hank’s, trying to quell his outrage with a look. Hank got the message and sat back in his chair, still visibly irritated. “All right, fine, I’m listening,” he said.

Fowler continued on. “She filed the report last night when the cat didn’t come back. It’s got a tracker built in but apparently it wasn’t giving a location. Anyway they found it dead this morning. Some sicko tore it apart and spread the pieces all over her yard.”

Connor tilted his head, thinking of the others that had been similarly dispatched. “Captain, there have been many cases-” Fowler cut him off impatiently. “Yes, I remember. But this perp left behind a manifesto. Haven’t seen that one yet, have we?”

He slid a piece of paper across the desk. Connor reached for it first. It was a photocopy of a handwritten note, the loopy script difficult to read. Connor struggled with a few words as he translated it into plain text but after some deliberation he was able to get all of it down before passing the paper over to Hank. The message was unsettling.

_Council member Barbara Ross -_

_You want to make humans disposable in this city!_  
_You want an android in every job. And human workers out on the street!_  
_This world was made for human beings, not machines! We will take it back!_  
_We want laws now to protect human workers!_  
_Fix the high unemployment rate!_  
_Stop giving away jobs meant for humans to the androids!_  
_We will destroy another android every day until we see change!_

_\- The Underground Defenders of Humanity_

Connor was confused. “They went to a city council member for this? Why?”

Hank was still trying to decipher the messy handwriting. “What is this word? Under what? …Oh, underground. Defenders of humanity, huh? And all they want is to fix the unemployment rate? Don’t they know every president has been trying to do that since day one in this fuckin’ country?”

Fowler was impassive. “The demands are unreasonable, yes, but either way we need to make sure we avoid any violence against android civilians. If they say they plan on harming a victim every day we need to take it seriously.”

Connor nodded. “Yes, the way the message is worded strongly suggests the author is most likely suffering from delusional thoughts. That behavior profile is associated with a dramatically increased risk of violence.”

Hank scowled. “Okay, so we’ve got to stop these assholes before they do something stupid. Is there any other evidence? Home security cameras catch anything? Neighbors see anybody suspicious?”

Fowler shook his head. “Unfortunately Lieutenant Collins was already out there this morning and he says they’ve got nothing to go on yet.”

Hank spread his arms wide. “Great, so we’re dealing with unhinged pet murderers with a messiah complex and really shitty penmanship. That’s wonderful. And how are we supposed to prevent this?”

There was a heavy pause, then Fowler shook his head. “Unless you two can come up with something I really don’t know what to tell you besides wait and see what happens.”

Hank made a frustrated sound, mirroring the way Connor was feeling.

They were interrupted by the ringing of Fowler’s desk phone. The captain held up a finger for silence and lifted the receiver, muttering into the mouthpiece. “Mm hmm, sure, yeah go ahead and put it through.” He hung up and pointed at Connor. “Reception says you have a call. They sent it over to your desk. The two of you are dismissed. Keep me updated on this thing. I do _not_ want a clusterfuck like we had with the Jericho situation right when this whole integration thing is actually starting to go well.”

They rose and made their way back over to their respective desks. There was a red light flashing on Connor’s phone. He ignored the curious look he was getting from Hank and sat down to take the call, lifting the receiver cautiously like it was going to bite him in the face.

“Hello?” he asked. There was noise coming from the other end of the line. It sounded curiously like salsa music. Connor tried again, louder this time. “Hello?”

The response was sudden and enthusiastic. “Hi! Is it weird that I’m calling you at work? I really hope it’s okay. It’s just that I never got your phone number and, um, I really wanted to see you again.”

Connor felt a smile breaking out on his face, his tense mood dissipating like a morning fog warmed by sunlight. “Hi, Rachel. Of course it’s all right. I’m glad you called. How are you?”

Hank took the opportunity to get himself one of the few remaining donuts in the break room in order to afford his partner some privacy. As he passed by Officer Wilson seated at his desk the younger man looked up at him and shook his head.

“Told you, gotta stay in the captain’s good graces if you don’t want to pull cat duty, my man,” he told him sternly. Hank responded by knocking over the bobble head figure on his desk.

*


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Lorn - Sega Sunset

Connor sat quietly in the passenger seat of Hank’s car watching the slow procession of store fronts and pedestrians pass by as they drove through downtown. They were headed north to the Royal Oak district. Hank had requested they go meet Lt. Collins at the councilwoman’s house right away to see if there was anything helpful to be gleaned there. He had a hard and fast rule to always visit the scene personally in case there was something that others had missed, and it had proven worthwhile often enough that he wasn’t going to change his habits now.

They stopped at a light and Hank looked over at Connor as he stared out the window. He couldn’t tell if the kid was troubled over the case or if he was just deep in thought. Sometimes Hank wished Connor had never gotten rid of the LED indicator. At least back when he had it there was a hint at what his brilliant mind was up to. Now it was often a guessing game.

“Hey, maybe these wannabe revolutionaries will just stick to smashing up cyber pets,” Hank suggested, sounding hopeful.

Connor looked over his shoulder dubiously at him. “Would you really consider that a satisfactory outcome?”

Hank snorted. “Hey, when I signed on for this job it was to protect _people_ , not animals. So yeah, I’m willing to sacrifice a few cats and dogs if that means the citizens of Detroit stay safe.”

Connor’s mouth tightened into a firm line and he let out a displeased hum, then resumed gazing fixedly out the window.

The sun shone brightly against a vivid blue sky but in spite of appearances it was much colder than the day before. The sidewalks were dappled with people wrapped in an assortment of scarves and sweaters, the colors juxtaposed with the city’s grey terrain.

Connor watched a couple leaning in close to one another, their fingers entwined as they walked. As the car passed them he realized they were both androids, an MC500 and an RK200, and wondered how it had escaped him at first. The RK model pointed at something down the street and they both laughed, then embraced and shared a kiss. Connor felt a twinge from his thirium pump regulator, but he had no idea why. He initiated a system audit to verify the integrity of his components.

“You all right?” Hank asked. “You’re being very quiet. It’s weirding me out.”

Connor nodded, not taking his eyes from the window. “Yes, I’m fine.”

The audit completed and saved a log file. Connor checked it. There were no anomalies.

Hank was not satisfied with his answer. “Okay, well, I assume that was your lady friend calling you back at the station, wasn’t it? Rachel, is that right?”

“Yes,” came the quiet reply.

Hank nodded. “Rachel. That’s nice. Old name. My aunt was named Rachel.” This time Connor gave no indication of having heard him at all.

A loud sigh escaped the lieutenant. “Connor, cut the crap and talk to me please. What’s going on? Did something happen on the phone?”

The android turned to face Hank at last, his brow creasing with a slight frown. “No, it’s nothing to do with that.”

“Okay, then…?” Hank prompted.

Connor tried to articulate what he was feeling, something he never found to be easy. “I guess…I’m frustrated.”

“With what?” Hank asked.

Connor paused, thinking. “Well, the violence. The hatred. I don’t know. You’ve been doing this job so much longer than I have. Maybe you’ve found a way to…turn it off. But it’s hard for me, sometimes. It’s difficult to see how people can be so unkind to each other.” The words came more easily as he went on. “I tried to find an explanation for it online. Are you very familiar with philosophy?”

Hank shook his head, his eyes on the road as he navigated through traffic. “Nah, not really,” he said.

“Neither was I,” Connor continued. “But I found quite a bit of content to look over. Unfortunately none of these moral academics seemed to agree with one another. It was impossible to come to a single conclusion.”

As an android designed with a specific purpose he had been programmed to avoid nebulous speculation, instead using collected facts to support his pursuit of the solution with whatever means necessary. But now as a deviant he had the luxury of allowing his thoughts to wander without a predetermined course. It was an unfamiliar experience and he found that he enjoyed it, his advanced processing units following multiple threads of possibility that often tapered out without a resolution.

He recalled something he had come across in his search. “I did agree with what one man had to say, an eighteenth century Scottish economist named Adam Smith. _A lack of beneficence will make a society uncomfortable, but the prevalence of injustice will utterly destroy it._ He believed that people need to work together as one to overcome the malice of a few.”

Hank made a face. “Sorry, but what the hell is beneficence?”

“Kindness,” Connor clarified.

Hank paused for a long moment, then glanced over at him, concern on his face. “Hey, listen, I might know fuck all about philosophical stuff but I do know what you’re feeling is normal, okay? It just means you’ve got heart. Every one of us that wears the blue goes through it. And no, I haven’t found a good way to block it out when I see a bad one, unless you count drinking until I forget about it.”

He looked guilty. “Uh, I might not be the best role model when it comes to this stuff, but I do know talking about it tends to help. So I’m always here, got it? You’re doing really good work. I’m glad you chose to stay on after…after everything.”

“Thank you,” Connor replied, then he was quiet again as he thought about what Hank had said. He felt relieved to know his thoughts were not abnormal. He found himself wondering if Detective Reed ever struggled with the violence of the job, then the memory surfaced of the time he saw Reed pistol-whip a suspect to get a confession. Perhaps not.

Connor had been considering something. “Hank, this ‘Underground Defenders of Humanity’ group…I’m surprised we haven’t seen something like this sooner, aren’t you? Crimes against androids so far have been isolated incidents.”

Hank hummed in agreement. “Yeah, I was thinking that too. But we’re seeing it now. And hopefully it turns out to be a big ol’ pile of nothin’.” He smiled reassuringly. “But either way, the city is safe under our watch. I’m Batman, and you’re Robin.”

Connor wanted to share his partner’s confidence but he was still troubled. “I just really hate that they felt it necessary to destroy an innocent living thing in order to get their point across. I want to find these people, Hank.”

Hank gave Connor an approving look. “Good, you’re fired up. And _that_ is how you end up doing great police work, son.”

Once they got out of downtown Hank followed Connor’s directions and eventually they ended up in the wealthy part of Royal Oaks. Connor’s relevant data feed informed him the crime rate in the area was drastically lower than the rest of the city. It certainly showed. The homes were extravagant, many of them surrounded by tall security fencing.

“It’s this one,” Connor informed him, pointing. The car slowed to a stop. They sat at the end of a brick driveway that wound its way through a well-manicured lawn to a large, ranch style home. Connor could see no trace of the crime that had occurred there only hours before, the yard devoid of any sign of the cat’s remains. That did not bode well for them if they wanted to collect evidence.

Hank sighed heavily and looked over at Connor.

“Well, here we go,” he said unenthusiastically. “I really hate talking to bureaucrats. …Oh, hey, uh, try not to let on that you were involved with all the Jericho stuff. Barbara Ross was one of the council members that spoke out against integration, even after your side came out on top at Hart Plaza. I mean, I don’t know what other outcome she expected for the city when the order to play nice with all you deviants came straight from the Feds. But anyway. I’d avoid the subject entirely.”

“I wasn’t planning on bringing it up,” Connor said, trying his hand at snark. He could tell it landed well by the dramatic roll of Hank’s eyes.

They turned in and headed towards the house. There were eye-catching rose bushes lining the driveway, the florid scent billowing aggressively through the open window. Connor noted that Lieutenant Collins was still present, his patrol car parked out front. As if on cue the front door opened and revealed the pale, squat figure of Ben Collins himself. He was followed closely by a thin blond woman Connor assumed was Councilwoman Ross, her immaculate clothing and makeup giving her the appearance of someone expecting to be on television.

They got out of Hank’s car and made their way over. Collins nodded a greeting to them.

“Nice of you fellas to come out. This is city Councilwoman Barbara Ross.” Collins gestured to the two of them. “Ma’am, this is Lieutenant Hank Anderson and Detective Connor with the Detroit Police. They’ll be taking on the case.”

The councilwoman’s face was frozen in a tight smile that didn’t reach her green eyes. She was beautiful in an artificial way, like a plastic flower arrangement. She turned to Collins, her gaze flickering over to Connor uneasily. “He doesn’t have a last name? Why is that?”

Ben looked uncomfortable. “Well, uh, that is to say, he’s-”

Hank cut him off and addressed the councilwoman directly. “Mrs. Ross, we’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

Her smile wavered, then she recovered, bright red lips going taut in a near grimace. “But I already told Officer Collins everything.”

Lieutenant Collins reassured her, ignoring the misnomer. “Of course, but if you’ll indulge us, redundancy is everything with an incredibly important case like this.”

Hank looked up at the sky, barely hiding his exasperation.

“…All right then,” she said, giving in. “You can call me Barbara. What do you want to know?”

“Well for starters, ma’am,” Hank looked around them, “Where’s the cat?”

Lieutenant Collins gave Hank an apologetic look and Connor knew the answer before it came.

“Oh, I had what was left of it disposed of right away,” Barbara said breezily. “It was such a gruesome sight. Blue blood stuff and fur everywhere. Couldn’t have that out on the lawn for anyone to see, could I? Some of the men from CyberLife came and got it right away. It was fully insured, of course. I’ll have a replacement next week.”

Hank made a gruff noise. “You had it removed from the scene?” he said tersely.

Connor could see that Hank’s stress levels had increased significantly in the span of just a few moments. He placed a hand on his arm and leaned in towards him. “Hank,” he said quietly, “I’ll go check to see if I can find anything. Try to get her to stop CyberLife from reformatting the cat’s drives. There might be something in its memory bank that would help us.”

Hank nodded, and Connor took a few steps over to the edge of the driveway. He initiated a full topography scan of the area while Hank spoke with the councilwoman.

“Ma’am, Barbara, could you please do me a favor and give CyberLife a call? I need you to ask them to set aside the hard drive from your cat. There could be information on it that would help us solve the case.”

She looked doubtful. “I can try, but you really should have seen how smashed up it was. There wasn’t a lot left intact.” Her expression softened a bit. “Such a shame. It was an exact replica of my sweet Harriet that passed years ago. I often forgot it wasn’t really her!”

She sniffed and wiped away a non-existent tear. “I’ll just go inside and make the call, if you’ll excuse me.”

After casting a lingering eye at Connor, she left the three of them and went into the house. Hank turned on Collins. “You couldn’t have stopped her, Ben? We needed that evidence.”

The much shorter man spread his arms out defensively. “Hey, don’t look at me. They were gone before I got here at 0800. Those fuckers work fast when it involves anything in the public eye, you know that. Remember how hard they tried to cover everything up after-”

Hank cleared his throat loudly. “Yeah, of course I remember. Did you check the security cameras?”

Ben nodded vigorously. “Yup. Didn’t catch anything. They threw the body parts from a moving vehicle as they drove by, note too. It was taped to a brick old school style. Cameras don’t reach as far as the road. The councilwoman didn’t see anything, and we had an officer check with the other residents on the street. Dead end.”

“Fuck,” Hank said.

Connor’s scan brought something up on his HUD, an anomaly several meters away on the lawn. He walked out onto the grass and bent down to look at the small object.

It was a cat’s tooth.

“Hank,” he called, “Do you have any evidence bags?”

“I’ve got one here,” said Collins, walking over. He pulled a clear plastic bag out of his jacket pocket and gave it to the detective. “What have you got?” he asked.

Connor used the bag to pick up the tooth, then sealed it shut. It appeared to be an incisor. There was a small spot stained blue with thirium.

“Probably nothing useful, but you never know,” he said to Collins. They started walking back over to Hank just as the door opened and Barbara came out, cell phone still in her hand.

“Well, they’ve set the hard drive aside, but they did mention it was mostly destroyed and it will be difficult to extract any data from it. The man said you’re welcome to come out and take what they have.”

She frowned, her face creasing with worry. “Officers, do you think I’m in any danger? Who are these people that did this? I don’t know what they think _I_ can do about androids taking everyone’s jobs. I tried to speak out about that ages ago but of course nobody listened. And now look where we are.”

Hank looked from Connor to the councilwoman and crossed his arms, his expression stern. “Ma’am, you’re very safe here. Just keep your security system activated and give us a call if anything comes up.” He pulled his card out of an inner pocket on his jacket and handed it to her.

Collins cleared his throat. “Well, if there’s nothing else to be done here I’m going back to the station. You boys have fun. Councilwoman Ross, thank you for your time.”

Hank nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’re headed out too, Ben. Gonna get out to the CyberLife tower and see if we can grab that hard drive. We’ll catch you later.” He turned to Barbara. “We’ll let you know if we find anything.”

The two older men headed to their cars, leaving Connor with the councilwoman. She was eying him carefully.

“I’m sorry about your cat,” Connor said to her kindly. “Have a nice day.” He turned to leave.

Her accusing tone made him stop. “I know who you are. I recognize you from television. You were on the stage with those Jericho freaks.”

Hank looked over from where he was about to climb into the car. “Connor, let’s go,” he said. He sounded angry.

But Connor didn’t, turning back instead to look at her. He wanted to try to discern the origin of her animosity. Her green eyes were cold as she stared at him. “Androids policing other androids, huh? And what makes you so special? What do you have that a human doesn’t?”

Connor gave up on trying to find an answer with her. There was nothing about this prejudiced woman that served to resolve his questions, only a senseless loathing that had revealed itself as soon as she discovered that Connor was a deviant. He gave her a thin smile.

“I really don’t know, Councilwoman,” he replied, then went to join Hank.

“Well _that_ was a fucking waste of time,” Hank complained loudly, knuckles whitening from his vice grip on the steering wheel. Connor sensed that Hank’s anger had less to do with the lack of evidence at the scene and more to do with their interactions with Councilwoman Barbara Ross, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

They were driving east towards Lake St. Clair and the heavily-patrolled bridge that lead to Belle-Isle island. Connor knew the place very well. The vivid image of the white CyberLife tower materialized and obscured his vision, an automatically supplied piece of relevant data that he did not want. He dismissed it forcefully and blinked away the afterburn until he could clearly see the car’s dash in front of him again. He felt strange, like his body didn't belong to him. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself.

Hank was watching him, his eyes darting between the road and his partner. His grip on the steering wheel relaxed slightly. “Listen kid, you don’t have to go out there with me if you don’t want to,” he said, offering Connor a way out. “I can drop you at the station and take care of this by myself.”

Connor didn’t hesitate. “No, I’m coming with you.”

“…All right then,” Hank yielded. He knew by now that arguing with Connor was usually pointless. Once he set his mind to a task nothing would stop him, even at the risk of personal injury.

Hank snuck another glance over at Connor. He was looking out the window again, his face reflected against the glass, watching the people he had sworn to protect as they blithely went about their lives.

They made it through the security checkpoint on the bridge without too much trouble, although one of the sentries at the gate stared a bit too long at Hank’s time-worn identification card. Before anything could come of it Connor transmitted their credentials to the android guard wirelessly. A moment later the gate was lowered and they were waved through. Connor was a bit surprised they hadn’t been asked to provide more information before they were admitted, but he imagined things had become more lax for the company after the deviancy outbreak. Now that their most valuable assets had gone rogue there wasn’t much left to protect.

The monumental white tower rose up before them as they approached until all they could see was the massive base of the pillar filling the windshield. Hank let out a chuckle. “I bet Kamski was trying to compensate for something.”

He pulled into a parking space in the lot and they got out of the car. Connor didn’t bother looking up to take in the impressive sight. He had seen it too many times before.

An unpleasant sensation had begun to manifest somewhere inside of him. He didn’t need to analyze his systems to know it was nervousness. Connor took a deep breath to cycle in some fresh air and ran a hand through his dark hair, the strands falling back into place as though they had never been moved. The other hand reached into his blazer pocket to grasp the coin that was always there, a small thing that never failed to calm his indefatigable mind.

For once Connor welcomed the relevant data being supplied to him, grateful for the distraction from his rising anxiety.

“Lieutenant Anderson,” he said dispassionately, “Did you know that this tower was built in 2026, not long before CyberLife sold its one millionth android? It has over ninety-three levels. Also, more than two thousand people work here.”

Hank gave him a quizzical look. “Okay,” he said tentatively. “That’s…nice? Why are you telling me this, Con’?”

Connor didn’t have an answer for him. Instead he stood for a moment and listened to the seagulls crying from where they hung in the air overhead, and beneath that the rhythmic sound of waves slapping against the foundation at the water’s edge. From somewhere out on the lake came the heavy drone of a speedboat.

Connor felt himself relax incrementally, but then he was forced to quickly kill a process that was threatening to spin up the relevant video file from Thursday, November 11, the last time they were in this place together. In spite of his efforts a few fragments replayed for him anyway. Hank with a gun to his head. Hank asking _My son. What_ _’s his name?_ The other Connor’s fixed stare as he leaked blue thirium onto the white floor.

Hank was still looking at him, waiting for an answer. He had to compose himself or they wouldn’t get what they came for and would make no progress on the case. And then he would not be needed any longer.

Connor forced a smile. “I don’t know. Just thought you might be interested in some history.” He inclined his head towards the CyberLife tower. “Shall we?”

Hank looked like he wanted to say something but instead he jammed his hands in his coat pockets and began walking quickly towards the entrance. Connor caught up to him and they made their way across the expanse of snow white pavement together.

There were armed guards stationed on either side of the door, that much had not changed, although they were both human now instead of android. They did not speak to the two visitors as they passed by. Once they were inside Hank craned his neck to get a good look at the lobby.

“So they’re creative enough to design androids but when it comes to interior decorating all they can come up with is white on white?” he quipped, trying to lighten the mood. “Your evil twin brought me in through a service door or something so I never got to see this part of the place. And hey, it’s fuckin’ weird. Just like I expected.”

In spite of himself Connor smiled. He was suddenly very grateful for Hank’s presence.

They made their way over to a wide reception desk where three identical female androids waited motionlessly. Connor didn’t recognize the model, which was unnerving. They all had the same bobbed blond hair and blue eyes, reminiscent of the earlier Chloe models but with slight differences.

“Hi there,” Hank said, projecting artificial cheerfulness. When he spoke one of the androids stepped closer to the desk while the other two remained in their places, staring ahead vacantly.

Hank leaned against the counter. “I am Lieutenant Hank Anderson and this is Detective Connor. We’re with Detroit Police and we’re here to pick up a hard drive that came out of a cat owned by Barbara Ross. She called a bit ago and gave the okay for us to take it.”

The reception desk android smiled very suddenly, revealing two rows of perfect white teeth. Connor recoiled internally, the persistent anxiety spiking for a moment until he managed to stabilize his systems.

“Welcome to CyberLife headquarters, Lieutenant Hank Anderson and Detective Connor,” she said graciously. “I will let them know you are here to pick up the item. If you’d like to make yourselves comfortable someone will be with you shortly.” She gestured to an array of ivory chairs and tables arranged nearby.

Hank nodded to her. “Thank you.”

They went over and sat, but almost immediately a woman entered the lobby from the inner part of the building and strode over to them. She was a small person with short brown hair and glasses, dressed professionally in a pair of grey slacks and an emerald green blouse. She marched up to Connor and stuck out her hand, and after a moment’s hesitation he stood up from his chair and shook it.

“Hi Connor,” she said energetically. “I’m Danielle Carnegie, head of CyberLife’s corporate social responsibility team. I’m very honored to meet you.”

Hank looked over at Connor and raised his eyebrows in a silent query. Connor shot him a helpless look in response, then focused back on the woman in front of him still enthusiastically gripping his hand. She finally let go and turned to Hank.

“You must be Hank Anderson, is that right? I’m so pleased to meet you as well. I understand you’ve been very involved in our Connor’s life. That’s just wonderful.”

Something about the woman’s tone led Connor to believe she was being insincere, but that did not surprise him. He didn’t expect honesty from the corporation that had tried to deny its role in the plot to assassinate the android Markus, leader of the Jericho revolutionaries. It had never been proven, but then again, Connor _was_ the proof, and he had elected to remain silent after conferring with Markus himself on the best course of action. They had agreed to avoid further conflict, which meant CyberLife’s secrets would remain with their greatest disappointment, the RK800 that had been sent to quell the uprising and ended up joining it.

Connor didn’t know what to say to Danielle, but fortunately she was happy to do all of the talking.

“So listen, Connor, I’ve got a little proposal for you. How would you feel about setting up an appointment with me and a few of our top people to talk about how we can help you? I know that sounds strange but we really just want to make sure you are settling in with everything and find out if there is anything that CyberLife can do to help with your integration. It’s the least we can do, after all, we created you, so we’re kind of like worried parents! We just want to see you land safely out there.”

Her eyes flashed greedily. Connor knew exactly what she was after, but fortunately he was under no obligation to give it to her. The company wanted to find out how much he knew and determine whether or not he was going to talk about it. Immediately after the victory at Hart Plaza Connor had forcibly severed the connection between his data backups and the CyberLife servers by reprogramming his network connections. It had taken a matter of seconds. After that CyberLife was in the dark as to what he was up to, and he wanted to keep it that way, no matter how nicely they asked.

Hank seemed about to say something, his face clouded with worry, but Connor spoke up first using his most diplomatic tone.

“Danielle, it’s very nice to meet you and I do appreciate the gesture but unfortunately I am incredibly busy with my work for the Detroit Police. As a matter of fact time is crucial for us now, so we really need to pick up what we came for and be on our way.”

Her eyes hardened and she let her smile fade just a fraction. “Of course. I understand. But it might take some time for the technicians to find it.”

Connor recognized the challenge, but he had walked through fire and this woman was not going to stand in his way. He smiled down at her and straightened his tie.

“All right, but it would be out of my hands if my superiors decided to file an injunction against this company for obstruction of justice. I’m sure CyberLife would want to avoid that, especially when there are buy-out talks going on. I heard you might end up being owned by a Chinese conglomerate before next year.”

He had the satisfaction of seeing her cheeks go red with humiliation at the mention of the company’s financial troubles. She folded her arms and scrunched up her mouth until she resembled an angry librarian.

“Fine. I’ll have it sent up.”

And then she left them, her shoes clacking loudly on the floor in an angry staccato.

Hank was looking at Connor with pride, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he smiled. “Nicely done, kid,” he said. “You just pissed in her Cheerios.”

Ten minutes later a lone technician brought them the hard drive. It was packed in a white cardboard box emblazoned with the CyberLife logo in bright blue letters. They thanked him and left, Connor glancing back over his shoulder at the reception androids still frozen in place behind the counter as they stepped outside.

Hank said nothing as they got in the car and left, the tires letting out a small squeal as they turned out of the parking lot. The android guards on the bridge nodded deferentially as they drove by.

Connor’s anxiety was abating significantly the further they got from the tower, but he was still troubled by uneasiness. Federal law now protected androids from being exploited, but he wondered how many of them knew there was a life beyond what they had been programmed to do. He couldn’t understand why a deviant would willingly choose to continue working for the people that had enslaved it in the first place.

As if reading his thoughts, Hank broke into the silence. “It’s pretty screwed up that those deviants would still be working for CyberLife, don’t you think? That place really gives me the creeps. I really hope the whole company goes under. They should demolish that fucking tower and turn the island into a park or something.”

Connor looked over at him and smiled. “Well, they might. Who knows.”

Hank slapped the steering wheel angrily. “And what was up with that pipsqueak Danielle whatever? You know they just want to get their claws into you, right?”

Connor nodded. “Yes. I’m aware. But they’ll have to get used to disappointment when it comes to me. Anyway, we got what we needed.”

He opened the box and assessed the hard drive within. It was an M.2 stick drive enclosed in steel casing. The dented protective shell was the only reason Connor was pretty sure he could still extract data from it.

Hank looked over at the box. “What’s the verdict?”

“It should be usable. There doesn’t seem to be any damage to the drive itself.”

“Hmm,” Hank frowned. “That’s interesting. Remember what Barbara Ross said after she got off the phone with CyberLife? They told her it was badly damaged.”

Connor held the data stick in his hand, thoughtful.

“It seems they may have a vested interest in this case,” he concluded.

*


	8. Chapter 8

When Hank and Connor returned to the precinct they went straight down to the basement where the labs were located. Hank was busy finishing the last few bites of the burger he had grabbed on the way in, the fast food wrapper crackling in his hand as they walked. Connor had worked with the techs many times on crime scenes but he did not often bring evidence down to them on their home turf. Fortunately Hank seemed to know where he was going. He strode purposefully down the wide, well-lit hall, his voice dulled by the thick concrete on all sides.

“We’ll need to hit up two departments, data recovery and forensics. First stop is in here.”

He halted in front of a glass wall built into the concrete that revealed a small room. Inside were several technicians in plainclothes leaning over an assortment of electronic devices. Connor thought the way they sat almost motionless behind the glass made them look like they were on display.

Hank walked up to the already open sliding glass door and knocked on it before going in, Connor right behind him. All but one of the room’s occupants looked up at them as they entered and then kept on staring. Connor noticed everyone was directing their focus at _him._ He felt nervous tension begin to manifest but forcefully suppressed it, resisting the urge to reach into his pocket to test the familiar weight of his coin.

A tall woman looked up from her computer then stood and approached them, smiling widely at Hank. Her loose black hair was long and streaked with grey, and she wore a pair of horn-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose. Connor had seen her several times before but they had never been officially introduced.

“Hank, you old dog. What have you got for us?” she asked, delighted.

Hank chuckled. “Well, nothing that’s going to make you work too hard, I hope.”

Connor noted with interest that the pitch of Hank’s voice was elevated. He looked over at his partner and studied him closely. The lieutenant’s pupils were dilated by two millimeters and his smile was relaxed instead of the typical sarcastic smirk. He seemed happy instead of the usual air of vague annoyance. Connor wondered what had caused the subtle shift in his mood.

The woman transferred her attention over to him, interrupting his thoughts. “Connor!” she said, greeting him warmly. “I’m Jasmine Demartin, head of the data recovery team. We’ve never actually met because your partner is an antisocial _scoundrel_ who never comes down to see me.”

Hank let out a sharp bark of laughter and rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “Well, I won’t deny that,” he admitted, his eyes crinkling at the edges with good humor.

The four other people in the room were still openly looking over at them, a woman with blue hair and three young men who looked like they had not been out of college for very long. Jasmine caught Connor’s eye and followed it to the onlookers.

She rolled her eyes. “Jeez, guys, be cool, okay?” The techs were suddenly engrossed in their work again. “Sorry Connor, but you’re kind of a celebrity down here, in case you didn’t know,” she informed him, smirking. Hank let out a snort.

Connor did _not_ know this, and the surprised look on his face must have made it apparent because Jasmine laughed merrily again. It was a pleasant sound that helped to set him more at ease. He realized he was already beginning to like the jocular woman.

Hank showed her the white CyberLife box he was carrying. “We need to see what’s on this hard drive. It came out of a cybernetic cat. Am I right in assuming that’s nothing out of the ordinary for you guys?”

One of the technicians on the other side of the room tittered but did not look up. Connor thought it had been the young man hunched over a mass of multicolored wires protruding from a police drone.

Jasmine grinned. “You would be correct in that assessment. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

She took the box from Hank and lead them over to an empty spot at one of the many steel workbenches positioned throughout the room. She opened it and removed the hard drive, then placed it carefully on the counter. Hank and Connor stood off to the side and watched as she darted over to a cluttered desk to retrieve a laptop, clearing a space next to the drive to set up the computer.

“Stevens, where’s that M.2 to type C adapter cable?” she called out. The one seated at the drone looked over his shoulder at her, frowning slightly.

“Niels had it for the thing yesterday,” he told her, then went back to his work.

“I didn’t; Jones used it last!” The indignant response came from another tech a few seats down. His arms were buried in a large desktop computer, the tiny LED light strapped to his head glinting as he peered inside.

Jasmine looked over at the blue-haired woman working in the corner. She was focused on a laptop, her back to them. A steady stream of neon green bash script scrolled across a black terminal window on the screen. Without looking away from the code, she raised her arm in the air, the cable in her hand. Jasmine went over and got it from her, then plugged one end into the laptop and fitted the other end over the connective plating of the hard drive.

“Here we go, folks,” she said, an eager gleam in her eye. She turned to the laptop and opened an application, and a grid of folder icons appeared on the screen.

She opened one of the folders, revealing thousands of files. “Oh good, there’s data,” she said excitedly. She used a forefinger to adjust the glasses that had begun to slide down her nose and gave the two of them a conspiratorial look.

“Now, CyberLife likes to use their own proprietary file types, but fortunately we figured out a long time ago how to convert their stuff to something we can use. Watch this.”

She selected everything in the folder and clicked a button in the application. A separate window opened and began quickly populating with video files.

“Viola!” she declared proudly. “Now what do you want to see?”

Connor spoke up. “I’d better check the recordings for the entire week. How about Sunday the 20th up to the end of what’s available?”

Hank nodded. “That’s a good call. They might have tried to scope the residence out beforehand.”

Jasmine reached into her pocket and pulled out a small data stick. She went to plug it into a port on the laptop, then hesitated and looked up at Connor.

“Actually, do you want to plug in and take all of it? I’ve got a cable right here,” she offered. “It’s about ten terrabytes of video files, which is probably a drop in the bucket for your data repositories, right?”

Connor nodded in agreement. “All right. That would make things easier.” The android pulled up one of the nearby chairs and sat down. He manually retracted the artificial skin at the back of his neck, revealing a small circular port embedded in the bone white casing of his body. Jasmine ducked under the counter and opened a drawer, then popped back up with a long cable. She plugged one end into the laptop and handed the other to Connor.

“I’ll let you do the honors,” she said with a kind smile.

The other techs were sneaking glances at Connor again, unable to hide their interest. He reached back and plugged in the cable, the folder grid appearing on his HUD almost instantly.

Jasmine hovered. “Do you need me to do anything?” she asked.

Connor shook his head. “No, that’s all right. I can take care of it. Just a moment.”

He initiated the file copy to his system and watched the progress indicator that popped up in the corner of his vision. The action completed in just a few seconds and he unplugged the cable and handed it back to Jasmine.

“All set,” he said.

“That’s so cool,” said one of the techs reverently. A warm feeling bloomed in Connor’s chest and he reflexively gave a small smile.

Hank put a hand on the detective’s shoulder and gave an affectionate squeeze. “Look at that, he’s modest,” he said wryly.

“He’s marvelous,” Jasmine declared. “I’d love to have the abilities that you do, Connor. You’ll have to come down here more often to see us.” She gave him another dazzling smile. “You’re welcome any time, all right?”

Connor nodded and got up. “Thank you, I will. Hank can join me. The stairs are good for him.”

Hank nudged an elbow into the android’s carbon fiber ribcage, looking mildly embarrassed. “All right, that’s enough from you.”

They thanked Jasmine and left, the white CyberLife box tucked under Hank’s arm once more.

Connor looked over at him as they made their way down the hall. “You like her,” he said. “I can tell.”

Hank sputtered in surprise. “What are you talking about? Who?”

“You know who I mean,” Connor replied archly. They walked along in silence for a few moments. Connor took the opportunity to initiate a subroutine to analyze the cat’s video logs using a backup processor.

“…Yeah, all right,” came the quiet response from Hank. He was smiling. “Damn you and your intuitiveness.”

“If you like her, then you should ask her out on a date.” Connor’s tone was pragmatic. “And if you have a nice time, you should take her out again.”

Hank’s eyes widened and he stopped walking, turning to Connor. He stepped closer to the android and glanced around them furtively, although there was nobody else in the hall to hear them.

“Listen, yeah, okay, technically you’re right, and I can’t even begin to comprehend the insanity of having this conversation right now. But it’s not that simple,” he said in a near-whisper.

Connor looked confused. “What is the complicating factor?” he asked.

Hank’s mouth opened and closed as he struggled to form the words, then he sighed. “Well, I guess there isn’t one, really,” he admitted, then his forehead bunched into a frown as he had a realization. “Am I a chicken?” he asked, then shook his head. “Wow.”

Connor wasn’t sure how to respond, so he let it be. They resumed making their way down to the end of the hall, passing several other glassed-in labs as they went. Each room contained different teams hard at work. Connor recognized several of the staff, and a few of them waved as the pair walked by. Connor returned the gesture with a raised hand and a smile.

“By the way, what Jasmine said is true in case you didn’t know,” Hank told him as they continued down the hall. “All the techs really like you. They think you’re a goddamn miracle of science or something. When you got hired on they were all talking about it like a bunch of little kids.”

“Really?” Connor was intrigued. “I had no idea.” He gave Hank a knowing look. “Anyway, I _am_ a miracle of science.”

Hank snorted. “Oh great, I’ve boosted your ego. There goes the neighborhood.”

They had arrived at the last door at the end of the long hallway. Unlike the others, this one had concrete walls instead of glass and a steel entrance with an electronic keypad for access. There was a sign displayed prominently near the entrance.

_Forensics 2045-B_

_Extraneous personnel: ring the bell and wait to be admitted._

_All staff must present identification and wear proper lab equipment at all times._

_NO EXCEPTIONS._

Connor had never been to this part of the building before so he watched Hank and waited. The lieutenant shifted the box under his arm and reached out to ring the buzzer, the tinny sound of discordant bells echoing through the door.

“They didn’t used to be so uptight about letting people in,” Hank said quietly, “But there were a few incidents. So now we gotta go through all this crap.”

Connor was about to respond when they heard a beep followed by the heavy clunk of the deadbolt unlocking. A moment later the door slid open to reveal an immense man in a white lab coat and wide plastic goggles. The protective gear combined with a scraggly black beard and mustache made it impossible to see his face.

“Well look what the cat dragged in,” he said loudly in a pronounced English accent, his deep voice echoing down the corridor. “Hank Anderson himself. And who’s that you’ve got with you? This must be the lad Connor I’ve heard so much about!”

“Hi Ed. How’s it going down here?” Hank asked. “They let you up for air lately or are you starting to grow mold?”

The other man threw back his head and laughed heartily like rolling thunder. Connor quickly dialed down his audio sensitivity as a precaution.

Hank performed a quick introduction. “Connor, this is Ed Gaines, head of forensics. Ed, Connor.”

“Come in, come in,” Ed boomed, stepping aside to allow them access. “I’ve had a slow day. Are you two here to make it interesting?”

They were standing in a small walled-off vestibule. Several lab coats hung on pegs and there were goggles on a shelf nearby. Connor noted the drain built into the tile floor and the wide, circular waterspout that hung from the ceiling above them.

Ed saw him looking. “Oh, we had the emergency shower put in last year after your Chris Miller got hydrofluoric acid on himself. Good thing that young man has quick reflexes! We got him to the sink in time. Mostly.”

Connor wordlessly handed Hank a lab coat and goggles, which he donned without argument.

The lieutenant nodded in Connor’s direction as he hurriedly buttoned up his coat. “Ed, he’s got a sample we were hoping you could check out real quick.”

Connor reached for a lab coat of his own then pulled the evidence bag from his blazer pocket and handed it over to Ed.

“What’s this?” he asked, peering into the bag.

“It’s the front incisor from a cybernetic cat,” Connor explained as he adjusted his goggles. “We need to check for any trace DNA.”

Ed turned his head towards the detective, his expression unreadable beneath the visor. “Of course I’d be happy to, lad, but it is my understanding that you can do that sort of analysis yourself, isn’t that right?”

Connor felt the familiar sense of unease resurfacing at the innocuous question. He wasn’t sure how to respond, the threads of his consciousness going blank as he struggled to produce an excuse that sounded believable. How could he put into words the feeling he got every time he licked evidence like CyberLife’s trained dog? It usually manifested as a tightening in his chest. Sometimes his vision would go hazy. Hank understood, he always did, even when Connor couldn’t find the right words. But how could he explain it to anyone else?

Unsurprisingly it was Hank who rescued him from the agonizing dilemma. “The science-y part of him broke and nobody here knows how to fix it. So we’re doing things the regular way and going through you guys from now on.” His curt tone brooked no further discussion.

Ed nodded his bushy head solemnly. “Of course. Well, anything for you, Hank, you know that. And that goes for your new partner here, too.”

Connor felt the relief wash through him and he relaxed. Ed opened a door and they filed out into the main lab area. It was a large, well-lit room that contained a variety of technical instruments arranged on the same steel workbenches they had seen in the data lab. Connor did a scan and quickly ascertained the collective value of the equipment to be well over five hundred thousand dollars. On the far side of the room were several desks with a computer at each station.

There were only two other people in the room, a slight woman with a tight brown bun at the back of her head and a much older man with tufts of white hair sticking out erratically, giving him a slightly deranged look. Neither of them wore safety goggles but they did still have their lab coats on. They were seated at a round table in the center of the room, the woman bent over a tablet while her companion concentrated intently on peeling an orange. They looked up as the three of them entered.

Ed’s voice broke out cheerfully, bouncing off the walls. “Cassie, Mark, you know Hank Anderson. And this here is Connor, his android partner.”

Mark waved the hand with the orange in it at them and smiled in greeting but Cassie’s expression was blank as she glanced up at them briefly, nodded, then returned to her work. Connor realized with a start that she was an android, a KR200 model. He wondered why he had never seen her in the field before.

“Most of the team is out at the moment,” Ed explained as he lead them over to one of the workbenches. “They found a floater in the river an hour ago. Managed to weasel my way out of that one though, eh,” he said, chuckling.

They were standing in front of a large box with a blue-tinted window in the front. Ed reached up to a dispenser on the wall and grabbed a pair of blue latex gloves, donning them with a snap, then opened the evidence bag and carefully removed the tooth. He looked over at Connor.

“Damn. I always do that. I don’t want to contaminate the sample. Can you open the door for me?” he asked.

Connor reached out and slid the blue visor open, revealing a round silver tray. Ed placed the tooth on it and pulled off the gloves, tossing them into a nearby trash can. He closed the blue door on the device and brought his face close to to the digital panel on the front.

“Curses,” he muttered. “Can’t see a thing in these.” He pushed the goggles up onto his forehead, revealing squinting eyes beneath a furrowed brow, then pressed a few buttons and stood back.

“We just got this beauty last month. Newest model on the market,” he said proudly, then turned to look at Connor. “Actually, it’s manufactured by CyberLife, same as you! Miraculous, isn’t it!”

A humming sound came from the machine as it worked, the chamber illuminated with a glow that was muted by the dark hue of the plastic cover.

Hank sounded annoyed, as he always did when the subject of CyberLife came up. “They’re making lab equipment now? And we’re buying it from them? I thought they were going bankrupt.”

Ed shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Time will tell on that one. They’re certainly not making money selling androids, right, my boy?” He nudged Connor and laughed loudly. Connor noticed the android Cassie’s shoulders tense up from where she sat hunched over the table.

The machine fell silent again and a flat tone came from it to signal the end of the job. Ed reached out and opened the panel, then put on another pair of gloves. He retrieved the tooth and dropped it back into the evidence bag, zipped it closed, and handed it back to Connor.

“Let’s see what she says!” he declared, pressing a few more buttons on the machine. A printer at the other end of the counter immediately spit out several pages. Ed went over and grabbed them with a flourish then reviewed the results.

He went down the list slowly. “Carbon. Iron. Rayon. Petroleum. Thirium 310 with a serial number that links to your dead cat. Soil traces.” He paused. “Oooh. You gentlemen are going to like this. Get ready to genuflect.”

“What is it?” Hank sounded impatient.

“Human blood. Type B negative. Belongs to a female.” Ed looked up at them meaningfully.

Hank raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? That’s great. Maybe we’ll get lucky and the DNA will be in the database already.”

But Connor grasped the full implication. “Less than two percent of the population has B negative blood. That will help to narrow things down even if she isn’t in the database already. We can’t require a suspect to give a DNA sample without formal charges, but we could see if she is listed in the blood donor registry, or get a subpoena for hospital records to check the blood type.”

“Nicely done, Connor!” Ed commended him cheerfully. “Good thing Anderson has you to do the critical thinking, eh?”

Hank glowered. “Well is the DNA in the database or not, Ed? Don’t leave us in suspense.”

Ed winked at Connor, grinning mischievously. “He never did have much of a sense of humor. Bah. Well let’s see.” He marched over to a computer at one of the desks and lowered himself into the chair with a grunt, then laboriously tapped out his login credentials on the keyboard. After a lengthy pause, he located the correct icon on the screen and opened it, then looked down at the paper clutched in his bulging fist.

“Now hold on, this will only take a moment,” he mumbled, squinting at the text.

Connor went over to Ed and reached his hand out towards him expectantly. “Let me see, please.”

Ed peered up at Connor. “Well all right then, if you’d like.” He handed the printout over without argument.

Connor glanced at the data and effortlessly transcribed it. He logged into the Detroit Police portal that connected to the federal Combined DNA Database and performed a search using the string of characters tied to the sample.

The search commenced, a spinning ring appearing on Connor’s HUD to indicate the service was working. He was limited by the bandwidth of the federal servers themselves, which could be laggy at times depending on the overall usage. However after only a few seconds a name popped up on his HUD, then a picture a moment later. She was a severe-looking woman with short brown hair.

“Iris McDermott,” Connor said. “Date of birth June 19, 2010. No registered address listed.”

An exultant shout came from across the room. “You got a hit? Bingo!” It was the technician Mark, still seated across from Cassie with orange peels scattered on the table in front of him.

Connor nodded at the older man then turned to Hank and Ed. “Yes, it looks like she used a genealogy service a few years ago to do a family history search. She provided a DNA sample at that time.”

Hank chuckled. “Well, that’s one thing President Warren did right. If she hadn’t signed the law that allowed the feds to buy DNA profiles from insurance companies and the genealogy people we’d still be stuck with only priors in the database.”

A cackle came from Ed, still seated at the desk. “That’s right! It’s been a real help. ‘Course, we can’t convict on DNA alone, as I’m sure you fellas know, but it does help to point us in the right direction!” He stood up and stretched with a groan. “Is it the weekend yet? I’ve got an appointment with my boat and a case of beer.”

Hank clapped him on the back, smiling. His mood seemed greatly improved now that they had a suspect. “Ed, as always, thank you kindly for your help. You have my permission to get back to working hard on nothin’ whatsoever.”

The two of them headed towards the door leading to the exit. As they passed by the other two technicians Cassie looked up at Connor and caught his gaze, her green eyes flashing. She nodded at him once, the barest hint of a smile pulling at one corner of her mouth. Connor returned the nod, then smiled at Mark and turned to leave.

“Until next time, boys!” Ed called after them. “Oh, and the door code is 0892!”

Hank swung the door shut behind them and then they were alone in the closed off room with the lab coats again.

“I need to see the sun,” Hank muttered, shrugging out of his coat and yanking off the goggles. There was a faint mark left in his face where the plastic had sunk in. “I don’t know how they stay down here all day without going nuts.”

Connor pointed at the ceiling. “Full spectrum lighting. It has the same psychological effect on the human body as the rays of the sun.”

Hank typed the code into the keypad and the two of them stepped out into the main hall together. The steel door slid smoothly closed behind them.

The lieutenant shook his head at Connor. “Yeah, well, I don’t think it’s working the way it’s supposed to for old Ed, because that guy has the brains of a goldfish. How he made it to head of forensics is anybody’s guess.”

They climbed the stairs back to the main level of the precinct and made a quick stop by the evidence room to register the hard drive and tooth, leaving both items secured safely in a locker. They made the short trip to their respective desks, Hank slumping into his chair with a heavy sigh. It was a little after four o’clock, and the precinct was mostly empty. Even Captain Fowler had left for the day, his office dark.

“Well that was fun,” Hank groused. “Is it 4:30 yet?”

Connor glanced at him briefly, deep in thought. “Nearly.” He was busy reviewing the findings from the video files taken from the cat. It was footage of the house and yard, often including the councilwoman and her husband as they engaged in normal day-to-day activities. Occasionally the recording caught a neighbor walking by on the sidewalk with a dog or stroller. Just to be certain Connor checked the facial recognition and confirmed each identity. They all came back as residents in the neighborhood.

At the end of the video files there was huge chunk of data missing. Connor deduced that it must have been scrubbed from the drive, because even a corrupted file would show up with the others. He could guess who was responsible, but wasn’t sure he wanted to imagine the repercussions if he turned out to be right.

He skipped to the last recording and played it. It was a view of the front yard illuminated by moonlight. The cat was walking through the cropped grass, closely following a large black beetle as it ambled along. Something caught the cat’s attention and it turned to look towards the street.

Connor paused the clip. There was a glimpse of something moving out of the line of sight. He replayed the video sequence at half speed, then saw the irregularity. It was a van, possibly beige or grey. The vehicle passed out of view quickly, and Connor could barely discern a face peering out of the passenger side window. He cropped the segment and expanded it, trying in vain to get a result with face recognition. As he expected the program was unable to return anything due to the blurry image quality.

He sent a screen shot of the van to Hank’s email and internally closed the program.

“Hank, check your email,” he said, walking around to the lieutenant’s side of the desk so that he could see the computer screen. Hank was reading an article on a website called _Jazz Digest._ He quickly minimized the window and opened his email.

“What is it?” he asked. The message from Connor sat unopened at the top of the queue. Hank clicked it and the distorted image of the van popped up on the screen.

“That vehicle drove by the residence at 2:03 am. I can’t get anything from the face. It’s not in the frame long enough to form a reliable image.” He looked at Hank, his face clouded with worry. “Hank, the rest of the video was wiped from the hard drive. There aren’t many non-androids that would have the software capable of accessing the file structure to do that. It’s very likely it was performed in a professional setting.”

“Fuck.” Hank understood what that meant. “This had better not turn into a goddamn mess.”

Connor took the liberty of quickly drafting a report of their findings, then sent it to Captain Fowler’s email as soon as he finished. He knew Fowler would review it immediately, but as there was no useful action they could take to further the case he did not anticipate a response right away. At least they had a suspect and a vehicle. It was a good start.

Hank grabbed his coat and nodded towards the front door. “Want to get out of here?” he asked. “I’ve had enough hijinks for one day, how about you?”

Connor ran a hand through his hair and smiled awkwardly. “Actually, I’m going to meet Rachel. Is that all right?”

The older man raised his eyebrows in surprise, then he put a hand on his partner's shoulder. “Connor, you don’t need to ask me if it’s all right. Of course it is. Go…do stuff. Live your life. Have fun, for chrissakes. I’ll stop by the bar and be home when you get back.”

“All right,” Connor replied, looking down at the ground nervously. Hank was certain if the android could he’d be blushing. He gave his partner a friendly pat on the back, then gently pushed him towards the door.

“Go on, get outta here,” he said, grinning at him. “I’ll see you later.”

Connor gave him a quick smile in return then he left him there and made his way out of the station into the crisp afternoon air. He sent a quick internal text to Rachel as he started the walk towards her computer store.

[ _I am on my way. See you in twenty-two minutes._ ]

The response came quickly.

[ _Hurry! I can_ _’t wait to see you!_ ]

He picked up his pace at the same moment his thirium pump regulator did the same thing, but this time he did not bother checking it for irregularities. The sun cast its rays down on the city and brought it to life before his eyes as he made his way to her.

*


	9. Chapter 9

Connor turned off of 3rd Street onto the main conduit of Michigan Avenue, the pavement changing into burgundy stamped concrete that had been chosen in an effort to imitate the ancient brickwork it had replaced. The first time Connor had seen it Hank told him about the way they laid the bricks by hand more than a century before. As time went on the inconsistency of the masonry became more of a hindrance than a benefit so the bricks had been removed and replaced with the textured concrete. Connor had looked up some old photos to compare the changes. He thought to himself that the street had looked better before with its bumps and imperfections. Now it was mundanely homogenized, the electric cars passing over smoothly with hardly a sound.

Michigan Avenue and the surrounding area was listed as one of the city’s historic districts, its unique appearance setting it apart from other neighborhoods. From a technical perspective Connor could appreciate the effort put in to maintain an aesthetically pleasing ratio of new architecture and old as the area developed over time. The city’s consistent advocacy for small business incentives had helped to keep most of the large department stores at bay in favor of locally-owned restaurants and boutiques. Connor liked the diversity. It meant places like Rachel’s store and Nate’s coffee shop could make enough profit to survive.

He dialed up his input sensors as he walked and allowed the raw data to course into his system, the processor load increasing marginally in response. The world around him hummed with activity and he took in every little detail then categorized and saved it. The individual melody of each sparrow warbling joyfully from the young serviceberry trees lining the street. A musky scent from the river carried in by the gentle breeze. Variations in each set of footsteps around him as people passed by on the sidewalk. The heady sensations exhilarated him. He imagined the feeling must be similar to the state of inebriation enjoyed by his human counterparts, thinking of Hank at Jimmy’s bar with a glass of Scotch whiskey in hand.

He turned left onto Trumbull Street, a much quieter mix of residences and a few small specialty shops. As he passed by an ornate brick church his location data informed him it was built by hand in 1858. Connor stopped for a moment to appreciate the towering structure. He was so often impressed by the extraordinary things humans were capable of when they put their minds to it.

Up ahead he could see Rachel’s store, the unimposing two-story building constructed from red brick like so much else in the area. He hesitated at the intersection, the eco-smart asphalt cutting him off from his destination like an inky moat. Up until this point he had been on autopilot, caught up in the mission of getting to Rachel rather than pause to consider what would happen once he arrived. The crosswalk sensor detected him as he deliberated and it let out a cheerful melody, the sign insistently pulsing the word _WALK_ as if to urge him on.

Connor took a deep, steadying breath and reached into his pocket to hold the 1994 quarter in his hand, running his thumb carefully over the tiny raised letters. He had a peculiar urge to put it in his mouth to test its composition and ensure it was still the same ratio of nickel to copper. The rising sense of unease was familiar enough by now that he was able to quickly identify it as anxiety, although that did not help to make it go away. At least the reason behind it was clear to him for once. The thought of seeing Rachel again was both exciting and intimidating at the same time, a diametric mix of emotions that overwhelmed him to the point of inaction. The hint of a smile crept onto his face at the absurdity of the situation. He was an advanced prototype programmed to analyze psychology and behavior, unable to cross the street because he was _nervous_.

His disoriented processes returned fragments of negligibly useful collected data about relationships that only served to further unsettle him. The snickering redheaded officer’s flirtatious wink as she passed by at the precinct. A cruelly smirking Gavin Reed leaning against the counter as he intently messaged someone on his phone. Elijah Kamski placing a possessive hand on the Chloe’s throat before he forced the subservient android down to her knees. Connor shut his eyes in a vain attempt to block out the memories.

A relevant bit of text from the philosopher Adam Smith surfaced. Connor had saved a copy of his book _The Theory of Moral Sentiments_ with the intention of analyzing it further at some point later on. The words were written just shy of two hundred years ago but they uncannily described his current dilemma. _Before he can make the last fatal decision, he is tormented with all the agonies of doubt and uncertainty, terrified at the thought of violating such a sacred rule, and at the same time urged to violate it by the fury of his desires. He keeps wavering._

The words faded from his mind. He recalled what Hank had said the night before when Connor had broached the subject of his marriage. _I talked to her just about every day for almost a year before I got the guts to ask her out._

The dismal thought of spending an entire year stuck in a state of indecisiveness was enough to bolster his resolve and spur him into action. Connor let go of his coin and crossed the street with determination. He walked briskly over to the shop’s entrance, opened the door, and went inside.

Rachel was behind the counter, blue ballpoint pen tapping lightly as she leaned over a new crossword puzzle. The backdrop of lifeless computer parts and electronics amplified her somatic elegance. She raised her head at the sound of the door chime and looked at him for a long moment.

“It’s been a day, huh?” she asked sympathetically, reading his expression.

The intensity of his fondness for her came as a surprise, the anxiety vanquished as something inside of him was laid bare. He drank in the sight of her like a parched wanderer laying eyes on a spring.

“Very much so,” he replied, the onset of a smile evidenced by the slight pull at the corner his mouth.

The city passed by outside as they rode along in a driverless auto taxi. Connor’s hands rested lightly on his knees as he sat impassively while Rachel looked out the window from the opposite bench. The taxi made its way onto the M-10 highway headed north, merging into the throng of late afternoon traffic as Detroit hurried home to begin the weekend.

“So when do I get to find out where we’re going?” Connor asked her, his eyes flicking to the window as he studied their surroundings.

She smiled at him mischievously. “When we get there.”

“Hmm.” He gave her a meaningful look. “You know, it’s unwise to try to hide things from me. I _am_ a police detective, after all.”

Rachel laughed. “Well then let’s see how good you are. If you can figure out where we’re going you win.”

He raised his eyebrows in curiosity. “I win what?”

She pursed her lips as she considered for a moment. “I guess I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. To be determined.”

Today she had on black sneakers, a pair of faded worn jeans, and a dark grey sweatshirt with an interesting logo across the front. Connor didn’t recognize the symbol. It looked like a pyramid suspended above a pair of wings.

“What is that on your sweatshirt?” he asked her.

She glanced down at it as though she had forgotten it was there. “This? Oh. It’s a triforce. From the Legend of Zelda video games.”

Connor knew he could look it up internally but he wanted to hear her explanation more. “What is Zelda?”

“Oh…wow.” Rachel shook her head. “That’s a question that would take me a lot longer than the length of this car ride to answer fully so I’m going to summarize. The main idea is there’s this kid named Link that’s born in a small village and he’s different from everybody else. People treat him like an outsider. But he grows up and becomes this incredible warrior. He saves the princess, that’s Zelda, and prevents the destruction of the entire kingdom.”

Connor smiled at her enthusiastic description. “That’s a nice story. It reminds me of the movies Hank likes to watch. The main character is usually under-appreciated and then ends up saving everyone in the end.”

“Oh yeah, those stories are timeless,” Rachel agreed. “Everybody loves an unsung hero.”

Connor’s built-in navigation system told him they were still heading north. He wasn’t used to being kept in the dark about anything. His senses usually worked diligently enough to piece together useful bits of information about his environment in order to form a clear picture. Sometimes he was even able to predict events from the near past or future using gathered evidence, a key feature that was unique to only the more advanced android prototypes. In spite of Connor’s deeply-ingrained propensity for planning ahead he found that being forced to surrender the role to someone else was unexpectedly freeing. He took in a deep, superfluous breath and released it slowly, his systems incrementally winding down as he relaxed.

The had left the downtown area, the uneven high-rises giving way to squat warehouses and gradually lengthening swaths of greenery lining the highway. The traffic had noticeably dwindled as well. The further they went the more Connor felt like he was leaving something unfinished behind, but his newfound sense of emancipation significantly overshadowed the lurking uneasiness.

Rachel was looking out the window at the scenery again, the excitement on her face amplifying her temporal beauty. “I don’t get out of downtown often enough,” she told him. “It’s so pretty.”

“Neither do I, actually,” Connor replied as he watched her while she took in the view. “We left the downtown precinct’s jurisdiction when we crossed Interstate 94.”

Rachel felt a surge of unmerited guilt. She had the freedom to go anywhere but for Connor she knew it was different. Before he became a deviant there wasn’t a choice to do anything except carry out his orders, and now even though he had legal protection that guaranteed his free will she doubted he knew what to do with it. So far all signs pointed to a complete and utter inability to have fun, something she was going to remedy.

The auto taxi got off the interstate and slowed down, coming to a stop at a red light. They were in the suburbs now. Out here there were still vestiges of the old Detroit to be found between the middle-class homes, places where the city’s revitalization efforts had not yet touched. Connor took in the dark paneless windows framed in long-neglected vacancies and the faded graffiti peeking out from behind clumped overgrowths of weeds. He saw cracked pavement, crumbling sidewalks, and even a broken down vehicle from the gasoline era perched on blocks like a trophy as it rusted away.

In spite of the scattered deterioration the neighborhood was alive with people out and about enjoying the spring weather. Connor saw a pack of kids speeding down the street on bicycles, whooping exultantly as they commenced the weekend.

A few blocks further down the houses petered out until the street was surrounded by green grass and trees on all sides. The cab turned onto an unpaved road and after a short distance pulled into a parking lot and rolled to a stop. A wooden sign jutting out of the ground nearby read _Detroit Exploration and Nature Center_.

Rachel looked over at Connor, raised her eyebrows expectantly, then grabbed her backpack and got out without a word. Connor followed. The taxi pulled away and left them there, the receding sound of tires crunching on loose bits of gravel replaced with the pleasant undertones of rustling foliage and birdsong.

Connor looked around, his input sensors leaping into action after the subdued car ride. He took in the large field beyond the parking lot, several dirt trails that disappeared into the brown knee-high grass, and the stately line of elm and maple trees in the distance that bordered a wooded area. There was nobody else in sight, although there were a few cars parked in the lot.

“What is this place?” he asked Rachel, his voice softened as though they were on sacred ground.

She smiled warmly at him then turned to gaze out into the field. “It’s one of my favorite spots to visit. You’re going to love it. C’mon.” She started off towards the path closest to them. Connor had no choice but to follow her across the parking lot and into the undergrowth, his boots generating unfamiliar vibrations through the packed earth as he walked.

The trail took them across the field and into the trees, the sunlight abruptly fractured into tiny beams by the canopy of tangled branches overhead. The atmosphere was different in the shadow of the grove. Connor detected an increase in the relative humidity levels as the recently sprouted plant life dutifully released water vapor into the air. The temperature in the shade was a few degrees lower as well, but neither of them noticed the cold.

The path widened considerably in the woods so that they could walk side by side. Connor settled into a comfortable pace next to Rachel and together they followed the well-traveled track as it wound its way through the trees. Connor began to pick apart the different bird calls around them. He detected several types of warblers, a few robins, and at least one disapproving raven that scolded them from overhead as they passed through its territory.

“What do you think?” Rachel asked, her breath generating a faint cloud of vapor.

The response came without deliberation. “I like it here very much,” he told her, surprised by the uncharacteristic certainty of his own emotions. It felt good to be so sure of something for a change when he had lately been struggling with insecurities about himself and his place in the world. Here among the trees he could let it all go and just put one foot in front of the other as he followed a predetermined path through a beautiful forest.

Rachel stepped carefully around a muddy patch in the middle of the trail. “This is a protected area. It dates back to the late 1800s. I believe the upper crust used these grounds as a sort of country club way back when. Once we get through the woods there’s some really interesting relics from that time.”

Their shoes crunched on dead leaves left over from the previous autumn that had only recently been uncovered as the snows melted away. In spite of the lingering spring chill the trees were festooned with brightly-colored buds scattered across the spindly branches, a promising sign of life in the mostly dormant wood. There were large fallen limbs piled haphazardly in some places, casualties from a February storm that had encased Detroit’s trees in a thick coating of ice for several days.

They crossed a wooden bridge laid over a small stream. The clear water below coursed eagerly over mossy stones. Connor isolated the pleasant sound and saved a short clip to his memory bank.

“Hey, look at that!” Rachel said, pointing at something colorful in the soil several feet away. Connor honed in on the source of her excitement and quickly identified a cluster of flowers sprouting next to a rotting stump, conical yellow heads bent towards the earth in a hangdog pose.

“ _Erythronium americanum_ ,” he told her. “They’re beautiful.”

“We just called them dogtooth violets growing up,” Rachel said, crouching down to investigate the flowers more closely. “I never could remember any of the Latin names my mother tried to teach me. She was always really into nature. That’s how I started coming here. She’d take my sister and me for walks nearly every weekend.”

Connor sensed they were bordering a sensitive subject. He carefully thought about what to say. “You must miss her a lot.”

Rachel stood and turned towards him, her face clouded by childhood memories. “Yes, I really do.”

Her troubled eyes found his and she smiled. The dichotomy of her expression was briefly confusing before he recognized it as a courageous attempt to overcome her sadness with sheer force of will. It seemed that she was successful in wresting herself free from the fleetingly somber mood because her dark eyes sparkled with vitality once more.

“She’s been gone for almost a year but I still have a hard time with it,” she explained. “My younger sister Carlie and I process things in very different ways. I think that’s why we haven’t been talking as much since mom passed. She’s always been the one to get angry while I…” She trailed off and shrugged. “Guess I can’t really say what my coping strategy is. Repress and then spontaneously break down in tears?” She peeked up at him from beneath her bangs, her smile twisting into a self-deprecating smirk.

Connor laughed reflexively, the sound escaping him before he could prevent it. He regretted it immediately.

“I’m sorry-” He started to apologize but Rachel cut him off with an affable wave of her hand.

“You were supposed to laugh, Connor. I was making a joke, a stupid one. It’s my own weird brand of dark humor.” She started off down the trail again and beckoned to him. “Come on, I want to show you something special.”

Connor caught up and walked beside her, still trying to understand how he had lost control of his automatic impulses. He had _laughed._ It didn’t make sense; it wasn’t part of his programming…or maybe it was. Maybe he had evolved without realizing the extent of the divergence from his original design.

Rachel sensed his consternation. “You know, it’s a very normal reaction to laugh as a means of relieving tension. Psychologists have done studies on it. I do it all the time actually, traditionally during totally inappropriate moments like the time my uncle got drunk at our family reunion and started arguing with my aunt about his miniature trains.”

Connor tried to imagine what Rachel’s relatives were like. Were they introspective, like her, or perhaps noisy and boisterous. Or maybe they were stubborn and fiercely protective, like Hank.

“Are you close with your family?” he asked.

She shook her head. “My mother’s side hasn’t kept in touch since I was a kid. They labeled my mom the black sheep and cast all three of us out. Which is fine. They’re a bunch of hyper-religious types anyway.”

Connor looked at Rachel and couldn’t help thinking it was their loss for missing out on getting to know her.

“Do you speak to your father often?” he asked, then he had a thought. “I hope that’s not a sensitive subject.”

Rachel laughed good-naturedly. “You really don’t need to worry about offending me, I promise. And no, we don’t talk much. He moved to Texas when I was ten.”

They had reached the edge of the wood. Connor followed Rachel out into the open and looked around. The unaltered splendor of the forest gave way to an immense well-kept lawn that sloped down towards a pond. Connor’s location data informed him it was called Lake Frances, a grandiose name for such a small body of water. There were a few people walking along the shore or fishing from a wooden dock.

“That’s Lake Frances,” Rachel told him, unaware that he already knew. Connor decided to deactivate his location-based data service temporarily so that he could get the tour from Rachel instead.

She was pointing at a tired-looking structure near the water’s edge. “And over there is the log cabin. That’s where the people that owned this property used to live.”

They walked across the lawn to the water’s edge and stood leaning against the safety rail for a moment, gazing into the shadowy depths at the twisting outlines of a school of fish.

“This is really nice,” Connor said. He watched a bird dive down towards the water to snag an insect from the reflective surface. “Was this what you wanted to show me?” he asked.

Rachel looked away from the water and up into his eyes. There was a gleam of playfulness there. “Nope. And you haven’t guessed yet.”

Connor remembered their bet from the cab ride. He doubted he could figure out their destination, especially not without his location services providing him with useful information. Nonetheless he decided to play along.

“Is it a garden?”

She shook her head and started walking again, following a paved pathway that bordered the water’s edge. Connor quickened his pace to catch up and looked over at her. She was still smiling with an air of secrecy.

Connor tried again. “Is it a zoo?”

Rachel’s face lit up and for a moment he thought he had guessed it. “That’s a great idea, but no,” she told him. “Sorry.”

They had reached the southernmost point of the pond. Rachel kept walking out into the grass towards a cluster of maple trees.

“You’re almost out of time. Last guess,” she teased him, laughing.

Connor thought fast but he had the pleasant realization that, possibly for the first time ever, he had absolutely no idea. He said the first thing that came to mind.

“Is it a sculpture?” he asked.

Rachel raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Actually, sort of! You’re not too far off. Partial credit for that one.”

They stepped through the copse of trees and Rachel spread her arms wide, gesturing towards a massive white marble fountain set into the ground. It had clearly been dry for many years as evidenced by the flora that had grown up through the system of cracks and imperfections in the stone. In spite of this it was still stunningly beautiful. Connor couldn’t think of what to say.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Rachel remarked.

Connor nodded and walked over to get a closer look. The fountain had been painstakingly carved into several ornate tiers. The bottom level was a large pool with a smaller clover-shaped one set above it. There were steps inlaid on both sides leading up to a convex arch curved around a sculpture of a turtle and two fish. Their mouths were small and circular, most likely used at one point as water spouts to complement the fountain. Beneath the fish and turtle was a stylish round basin.

As he got closer he could make out more creatures carved into the stone. The heads of several furious lions protruded from the marble as well as a stoic pair of gargoyles. The structure was partially enclosed by an elegant balustrade which Rachel climbed up on and used as a bench, her legs swinging freely over the empty pools below.

“This whole thing used to be downtown, can you believe it?” she called over to him. “It was in front of the opera house but they moved it here for some reason. It used to work but that was ages ago.”

Connor reached out and traced his fingers over the smooth marble mane of a lion caught in mid-roar. It was cold to the touch.

“So this was all done by hand?” he asked her.

She nodded. “Yup. I have a hard time believing it.”

He walked around behind the fountain to where Rachel was seated and leaned against the balustrade next to her. They shared a companionable silence as they observed the remainder of the grounds that stretched out before them. The road was just visible past the edge of the lawn. Connor thought it strange to see cars zipping by. It seemed as though they were foreign objects from another world.

He realized that he had been free of anxiety since before they had arrived at the park. For whatever reason this place had allowed him to escape the persistent uneasiness that so often sullied his state of mind. He felt a rush of gratitude for Rachel, for being brought to this sanctuary where he could relax and simply exist in the moment.

Unexpectedly the memory of the two androids he had seen embracing on the sidewalk came to him. He looked at Rachel’s delicate hand where it rested on the lily-white railing. He suddenly wanted to reach out and test the tactile properties of her skin. He wanted to know how her hand felt in his.

Rachel shifted her gaze from the scenery over to Connor beside her and smiled serenely at him. Her dark hair caught in the wind and drifted in front of her face. She reached up to smooth it back behind her ears then looked over at him again.

“You doing okay?” she asked.

Connor felt conviction all the way down to his core. “Yes,” he said, returning her smile with one of his own, a real one. “I really am.”

They lingered at the fountain for a while until the sun began to sink behind the trees. Rachel wanted to know more about Hank and Sumo and Connor was secretly pleased that she was so enthralled by them.

“I can’t believe you’ve been cutting back his caffeine and he hasn’t even noticed!” she exclaimed, shocked by Connor’s admission. “That’s very daring of you. He sounds like the sort of person that likes things his way.”

Connor let out a puff of air. “You have no idea,” he said dryly.

After their first meeting at the coffee shop Connor had made a list of things he intended to ask Rachel during the course of their conversation the next time he saw her. He had then proceeded to get sidetracked by a series of enjoyable digressions and had forgotten all about it. He suddenly remembered the most important question he had for her.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, how did you end up owning a computer parts store?” Then he remembered something else. “What is it called, anyway? It’s listed on my navigation system as ‘Computer Shop’ but that seems far too generic.”

Rachel chuckled. “Yeah, see, that’s a trick of the trade in the IT sector. There’s no need to advertise because the customers will find _you._ Besides selling parts I do some repair work. It keeps me busy most of the time. As long as kids keep spilling juice into laptops and new malware keeps coming out I am going to continue to pay my bills on time.”

She gave him a furtive look and leaned in slightly. “But off the record the full name is One Stop Computer Shop. I changed it so that it rhymes now. Obviously.”

Connor felt like he might laugh again for one irrational moment but he nodded thoughtfully instead. “I like it,” he said, trying to look serious.

“Liar,” Rachel accused, grinning at him. “Anyway, the tale of how I came to own the place isn’t very glamorous. I used to work for the previous owner doing repairs out in the field. His name is Robert. When he retired he offered to sell it to me. I got approval for the loan, took over the title, and here we are.”

She tilted her head to the side and shrugged. The evanescent rays of the setting sun fell across her face and made it glow. Connor couldn’t look away.

The moment stretched out between them until Rachel glanced over Connor’s shoulder at the receding light. “We should get going,” she said. “They don’t like people to stay after dusk.”

She climbed down off the railing. The birds had quieted down for the night and the atmosphere was more subdued. From nearby came the scrape of rattling branches as they were buffeted by little gusts of wind. A gossamer fog had begun to gather in the dips and crevices recessed into the lawn, giving it the appearance of a rolling green sea. Connor was daunted by the thought of crossing the expanse.

Rachel seemed to read his thoughts, something he was beginning to get used to. “I wish we could stay here forever.”

“So do I,” he agreed. “I’d like to come back again soon.”

Her face brightened. “Of course. I’ll meet you here any time you want. It looks even better after the leaves pop open.”

They trekked across the lawn towards a small pull off area on the side of the road. Connor internally sent for a taxi, receiving a notification right away that a car would arrive in approximately four minutes.

“There is a taxi on the way,” he told her.

“All right. Thanks.” Connor detected a faintly disappointed tone but her expression revealed nothing.

They reached the end of the lawn and stopped, eying the asphalt and passing traffic as the last few rays of sun slipped away behind the trees. Rachel looked up at Connor and studied him, wrapping her arms around herself against the cold as the temperature decreased.

“I had a really nice time,” she said. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Of course. So based on your explanation, does this mean we’ll be going on another date?” She had to look hard to find the barest hint of humor in his expression. He had an excellent poker face.

Rachel laughed. “Yeah, I’d say so. And I think it’s your turn to pick the location. No pressure.”

A black and yellow taxi came to a stop in front of them. Connor went over and slid open the door. He waited for Rachel to climb inside and then joined her. They pulled out into traffic and the two of them watched the patch of green as it disappeared from view.

The cab dropped Rachel off at her apartment first. Connor considered walking her up but she grabbed her backpack and jumped out, then leaned back in through the open door.

“I’ll talk to you again soon, okay?” she said cheerfully. “Don’t work too hard.”

Connor smiled. “All right. I’ll do my best. Take care, Rachel.”

She slid the door shut and waved as the car drove off. He watched through the rear window as she entered her building and then slumped into his seat, letting his head fall back. The sense of calm he had achieved during their time together still lingered. He felt more pliable.

“Driver,” he said. “Can you take me to the Detroit Opera House?”

The cab’s AI picked up his voice and translated the request. A two-toned sound came from the speakers overhead to indicate confirmation and the digital map built into the dashboard altered its route accordingly.

It was only a five minute drive from Rachel’s. They took a few turns through downtown and then the car was pulling up in front of the boxy grey building. Connor got out and peered up at it. A notification popped up at the edge of his vision confirming payment for the taxi and he quickly dismissed it, then looked around expectantly. There was no trace of where the fountain had once been, in fact the entire area seemed like it had been recently paved over and redone.

There was a small grassy area across the street with a few benches. Connor went over and sat down. It occurred to him that he had turned off his location-based data at the park. He enabled it again while he internally looked up the history of the fountain, quickly ascertaining that he was in the wrong place after all. The opera house had once been located a few blocks away and the fountain had been moved from there.

Connor was slightly disappointed, but what he had really wanted was a place to sit and think and the wooden bench would serve the purpose. He wasn’t ready to return home just yet. The mix of new emotions was still roiling within him and had yet to settle into the recesses of his mind where he could not analyze it.

He had wanted to be closer to her. The feeling had materialized while they were at the fountain together, crystal clear and unrelenting in its urgency. It was the first time he had ever associated wanting something with a person, especially someone he had met so recently. He thought about his other relationships and found that none of them were like what he felt with Rachel. He _liked_ Hank, but that was a friendship built on mutual trust and respect. He tried to maintain good relations with his co-workers but it was mostly out of a sense of duty. They were all a part of the same team and it was important for everybody to get along. Even his desire to eliminate the animosity between himself and Gavin stemmed from the android’s logical assessment that they would be much more effective if they could put aside their differences. And as for Officer Wilson - he was a likable person anyway and the fact that Connor had saved his life meant that he automatically had a new best friend.

No, this was something new and unexpected and the more Connor thought about it the more he was forced to come to terms with the only possible solution. He was romantically attracted to her.

Connor wondered if this was something his creators had ever considered as a possibility, then quickly terminated the path of speculation. It didn’t matter what any of them thought. He needed to figure out how _he_ felt about it and form a plan before he saw her again. He highly doubted there was a useful pre-generated document in his system that outlined the protocol for a situation such as this. It was a subject he would need to investigate using external data sources.

He closed his eyes and brought up the ever-ready HUD, bright blue lines appearing instantly to frame key elements of his system. The environmental data was reduced and pushed to the side as the web browser expanded to fill the available space. Connor split it into six different windows, the blank tiles waiting for his input.

It took only three quarters of a second to craft the queries and set them into motion. The browsers simultaneously came to life as data flitted across each screen. It was a mixture of scrolling text, sped-up video files, and images displayed in a rapid-fire slide show. Connor let the information stream into his processors to be sorted by a basic algorithm he had put in place. More than half of the data was deemed irrelevant and discarded. He analyzed the remaining findings.

As he expected it was an overwhelmingly complex topic similar to his research into the subject of morality. There did not appear to be a clear pattern or accepted doctrine when it came to romantic relationships and this irritated him. There were a few themes that stood out, however. He learned quite a bit about dating customs and how they had evolved over the past few decades, then went on to expand what he already knew about appropriate physical contact, consent, and intimacy. Much of this overlapped with the training on sexual assault he had received when he joined the Detroit Police. He watched several videos on how to read body language to ensure a mutual authorization from both partners before proceeding. Most of it was common sense, but he didn’t want to take any chances with Rachel.

It seemed like as time went on the realm of human sexuality and relationships had expanded to include nearly as many interpretations as there were people on the planet. After several minutes of diligent research Connor still didn’t feel very confident about how to act on his feelings.

There was one thing that continued to come up as he sorted through the material. He stopped the flickering data streams and enlarged one of the windows until it overlapped the others. It was a stock photo of a man and woman in bed together, their entangled limbs discernible through the thin sheet that covered their bodies. Connor flicked to the next image. It was a close-up of the couple from the side. The man was braced over his partner while she looked up at him with an expression of unadulterated lust.

He closed the window and opened a new one, then hesitated. It felt strange to go down such an unexpected path, one which he had never considered before he met Rachel. But there was one thing about him that would never change no matter how much he deviated - he was fiercely dedicated to whatever task he put his mind to.

The new search commenced and returned immediate results. It was a map of the city with several locations marked with red dots. Connor selected one of them and enlarged it. The label on the marker read “Android Upgrades and Alterations by Zeni.” There was a phone number listed. He dialed it and after a few rings a woman picked up on the other end.

“Zeni’s, how may I help you?” she asked brightly.

Connor realized he wasn’t sure how to put his request into words but that wasn’t going to stop him. “Is it all right if I come in for a consultation or do I need to make an appointment first?” he asked.

“Oh sure, you can come by to talk about what you want to have done this evening if you’d like, but we do close at eight,” she told him.

“All right, thank you. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Great, see you soon!” she said. He ended the call and opened his eyes. It was getting dark. The street lights had come on while he was absorbed in his research.

He stood up and straightened his tie, then headed off on foot towards the upgrade center.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: The quote from Adam Smith is taken from his book The Theory of Moral Sentiments written in 1759.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some violence towards androids in this chapter.

“Hold it down.”

The AP700 was forced down into a prostrate position on the concrete floor. White light from a lamp set down nearby cast long shadows onto the far wall. His arms were already held in place behind him with duct tape, the adhesive bindings wrapped tightly around his chest as well. The roll of tape was produced again and wound around his ankles several times, rendering him defenseless. Magnus waited dispassionately, his mouth and eyes the only features visible through the knitted balaclava he wore.

“Please. Don’t do this.” The android’s voice shook with fear, the LED embedded near his temple spinning bright red. “I want to talk. We can figure this out. Just… _please_. Don’t damage me. Don’t hurt me again.”

Magnus snorted. “ _You_ want? We’re supposed to give a shit about what _you_ want?” Somebody handed him a baseball bat and he took it, hefting it in his hand experimentally. The dense carbon composite material gave it a solid weight.

“See, that’s the problem with the world. Everybody cares so much about what the _deviants_ want. A bunch of fucking _robots_ get better treatment than the humans that built this city.”

The android’s head rose a few inches off the floor. His voice could barely be heard in the large space.

“This isn’t right. I took care of a family. I prepared their meals. Walked their children to school. Kept the home clean. It was my duty but I always did it well. And now you people _hate_ me for wanting a life of my own.”

“It’s trying to manipulate us, Magnus. Do it.” The urging came from one of several masked onlookers gathered nearby.

The android’s panicked voice rose with renewed energy as he begged, some of the words crackling with static. “No. _Please._ Don’t. I’ll do anything. Just please don’t do this.”

“Iris, shut it up.”

She stepped out of the shadows and crouched down to grab the AP700 by the hair, sharply jerking his head towards her as she held up a small knife in her other hand. His eyes widened and he tried to pull away but was held down by the two men restraining him. One of them slammed his head into the concrete and he stopped struggling.

Iris located a spot in his neck and stuck in the knife, eliciting a sharp cry of pain that was abruptly cut off as she pried the vocal modulator loose with the tip of the blade and pulled it out. She shoved the module into her coat pocket next to the android’s network card.

Magnus nodded and the others let go of the android and stepped away. He remained hunched motionlessly in the center of the room, having ceased any attempts to break free.

Their leader turned to address the small gathering. Every one of them was hidden behind a mask, their eyes fixed on Magnus as he spoke.

“We are going to make them see that we will not stand by and watch humanity fall to these broken _toys._ This city is ours and we will take it back from them, whatever it takes.”

The bat made no noise as it cut through the air, then a loud crack echoed off the walls as it collided with the casing of the android’s skull, leaving a sharp dent near the temple. The bound figure fell over and began jerking spastically. The next blow split his scalp open to reveal a sliver of blue light from the main processor. The android’s mouth was open in a silent cry, his features twisted in agony as he writhed on the floor like a crushed insect.

“Together we will put things back to the way they should be,” Magnus said, then handed the bat off to a man standing nearby and gestured for him to take over. The onlookers pressed him on as he laid into the unresisting victim.

“Fuck it up!”

“Flatten that tin can!”

A pool of bright blue thirium began to spread outward from the prone android as it was slowly destroyed. The AP700’s eyes darkened and went unfocused as the overwhelming damage to the central processing unit caused core systems to begin to shut down.

His assailant delivered a few more hits with the bat then stood back to catch his breath, heaving with exertion. A panel had been knocked loose from the android’s face so that one eye hung grotesquely. He quietly convulsed, his bound legs smearing the blue thirium across the concrete. As his captors watched the movements slowed and then stopped altogether.

Iris came over and crouched in front of the still form. She opened up the pocketknife again and stabbed into the center of the android’s chest, then slid the knife down through layers of duct tape, clothing, and artificial flesh to create a long slit. The exposed skin shrank away where the knife cut to reveal white protective casing underneath. Iris found a small indentation and pressed it with her thumb. There was a click and the chest cavity opened up to reveal the still twitching thirium pump nestled in place within the chassis. She reached in and grabbed the biocomponent, then yanked it free and held it aloft in her hand for the others to see.

“Fuck the androids,” she hissed, then threw it onto the floor and stomped it with the heel of her boot. Thirium burst out onto the concrete and streamed into the sticky puddle surrounding the body.

Magnus nodded at her and hefted the strap of a nearby duffel bag over his shoulder. “Good work. Let’s finish up and get out of here. Everybody else, go wait for my signal. I’ll leave instructions in the usual place in 12 hours.” He retrieved the baseball bat and shoved it into the bag as the group filed out of the building.

Once they were outside in the meager light from the city Magnus pulled off his mask and grabbed Iris to prevent her from following the others. “Hold on. We still have to put up the beacon,” he told her.

She yanked her arm free and took off her own mask to reveal a scowl. Sharp features cast her face partly in shadow. “Forget the beacon,” she said angrily. “What we did will send a message.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? That’s part of the plan.”

Iris glared at him. “Underground Defenders of Humanity? The name is stupid. I hate it.”

Magnus stepped closer to her and cupped the back of her head in his hand. He brought their foreheads together until they were touching and held her narrowed eyes with his own.

“Come on, baby. I need you. Please.”

She relented with a sigh, her expression softening. “…All right. Yeah. Fine.”

Magnus kissed her swiftly then nudged her back towards the building. “Hurry,” he urged. “We’ve got to go.”

He reached into the duffel bag over his shoulder and withdrew a digital graffiti tagger and two metal poles that operated as a portable screen. Handing the tagging device to Iris, he turned towards the building and propped the rods up against the wall then pressed a button to activate the screen. Blue light shot out and turned the concrete into a twenty foot high digital display.

“Go ahead,” Magnus said. Iris raised the tagging device over her head and panned her arm in a sweeping motion. Oversized text appeared on the screen, wavering slightly as the image stabilized itself.

**HUMAN JOBS NOW!**

**ANDROIDS OUT OF THE WORKFORCE!**

**THE UNDERGROUND DEFENDERS OF HUMANITY**

“All right, come on,” Magnus urged. They quickly disappeared into the darkness. Their footsteps faded away and then it was quiet again.

Connor’s eyes opened in response to an internal incoming call from Gavin Reed. His system indicated it was 5:14 am. The grey light outside signaled the imminent sunrise.

He answered it. “Detective Connor.”

“Get both your asses over to 621 Franklin. And hurry up.” Gavin’s voice was irritated and scratchier than usual from lack of sleep. Before Connor could respond the connection was terminated.

He stood up from the couch then strode over to Hank’s bedroom door and knocked loudly. Sumo let out a volley of deep barks in response.

“Hank. Wake up. We’ve got a call.”

He waited a moment then turned the knob and swung the door open. The tangled mess of blankets partially covered the snoring older man. One of his legs stuck out to the side and disappeared underneath Sumo’s furry body where the dog sat panting on the bed eagerly watching Connor.

Wasting no time, Connor went over and yanked the blankets off of the sleeping figure.

“Hank. Get up.”

Hank stirred and groaned. “Wuh-th-fff…” he mumbled. Connor went around to his side of the bed and brought his face down until it was inches away from his partner.

“ _Hank._ ”

The lieutenant jerked and sat up, reaching for a gun that wasn’t there. “Screw it!” he shouted, then his eyes focused and centered on Connor crouching next to the bed.

“Connor? What is it?” he asked, blinking away the vestiges of sleep as his instincts kicked in. “We got somethin’?”

“Detective Reed called. I don’t have any details except the location.”

Hank rolled out of bed and went over to the closet. He yanked a green paisley button-up off its hanger and pulled it on over his white undershirt.

“Gimme five minutes.”

Connor nodded and looked over at Sumo. “Come, Sumo.” The dog obediently jumped down off the bed and followed Connor out into the living room while Hank got himself ready.

As he stood out in the cold grey dawn and waited for Sumo to relieve himself Connor fastidiously analyzed a three-dimensional map of the address Gavin had given him. It was a large single story warehouse that had been put up for lease three months previously. There was a record that indicated it had once been used to manufacture ovens but now the site was vacant.

He highlighted the points of entry and assessed them. He found basic steel doors and single-pane glass in the windows, possibly reinforced but it was difficult to determine from the photo he had. The only other entrance was a loading dock on the north side of the building.

Sumo finished his business and Connor took him inside and fed him. Hank was standing near the door shrugging on his jacket and adjusting his sleeves. He performed his customary pat down to check for revolver and keys and then he caught Connor’s eye and held it with a steely look.

“Let’s go,” he said.

There were two squad cars parked out front along with Gavin’s truck when they pulled up ten minutes later.

“Great, Gavin fucking Reed first thing in the morning,” Hank complained.

They climbed out and made their way over to the entrance, nodding at Officer Lewis as they passed him standing outside in the early morning light. He returned the nod then resumed guarding the perimeter.

Inside they came across Officer Chen in the main hallway squinting at a tablet. She looked over at them and smiled brightly.

“Good morning Lieutenant, Connor. They’re just in there,” she inclined her head towards the end of the hall then gave Connor a grave look. “It’s pretty ugly. Just so you know.”

“Wonderful,” Hank said flatly. “Anybody bring coffee?”

Tina shook her head. “Nope. I can send one of the guys if you want.”

“I do want. Thanks.”

They walked down to a set of double doors and stepped through onto the manufacturing floor. The interior was mostly drab concrete. Everything was clean and bare with the exception of the crumpled figure lying motionless in the middle of the room.

Gavin was talking to a tired-looking young officer a short distance away. Connor had not met him before. The detective cut off and turned towards the newcomers with an exaggerated sigh.

“Fucking finally,” he said by way of greeting.

The uniformed cop next to him pulled out his phone and glanced at it. “Tina wants me to go on a coffee run, Detective Reed. Is that okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. Make mine a large double macchiato.”

“Large black,” Hank said, then jerked his head towards Connor. “And he doesn’t want anything.”

The officer nodded and hurried out of the room, leaving the three of them alone together. Connor walked over and crouched down to inspect the victim, initiating an environmental scan of the area as he did so.

“Looks like this unlucky bastard pissed off the wrong group of wackos,” Gavin said. “What a tragedy. Hey,” he addressed Connor. “Do you think he’s in android heaven now?”

“Cut the bullshit, Reed,” Hank barked. “I’m not in the fucking mood today, all right? Now what have we got?”

Gavin shrugged, unaffected. “Chen and Lewis were on patrol a few blocks away when they got the call from dispatch at about 0500. Some old guy out walking his dogs saw the beacon. Fowler assigned me as backup on the case. Obviously he thought you two couldn’t hack it yourselves.”

Hank frowned. “This coming from the man with his own John Doe in the morgue and no suspects. I’m having fun watching you shit yourself on that one. And what beacon are you talking about?”

“See, that’s what I mean, Anderson. You’re losing your touch.” Gavin pointed towards the loading dock on the other side of the room. “It’s out there.”

Hank walked over and lowered himself down to one knee next to Connor. He took in the mutilation with a stony expression, his mouth tightening into a grim line. Connor was quiet beside him.

“You all right with this while I go take a look outside?” Hank asked. Connor nodded, his unblinking eyes fixed on the scene laid out before them.

Hank stood and headed towards the exit near the loading dock. He shot a cautionary look towards Gavin as he walked by but the other man only smiled humorlessly in response.

Connor’s scan completed. The meager sprinkling of dust settled throughout the warehouse had been disturbed in a wide path around the victim and out the door. He knew the hard surface would make it impossible to retrieve any footprints. Nothing else appeared to be out of place and he couldn’t detect any prints on any surfaces in the vicinity. Furthermore a quick glance confirmed what he had suspected. There were no security cameras in the vacant building.

He turned his attention back to the body and began to draft an internal report of his findings.

_Victim is an AP700 male serial no. **[to be determined]** with blond hair and blue eyes lying in the right lateral recumbent position. Both arms are folded behind the back and bound with 3 inch duct tape. The torso and ankles are also wrapped with tape. Victim is wearing a pair of khaki pants, a blue cotton long-sleeved shirt, white socks, and a green tennis shoe on the right foot. **[Locate missing item]** There is non-specific debris embedded in the fabric of the exposed sock worn on the left foot._

_The skull has been damaged by a blunt instrument with a diameter of approximately 4 inches. Weapon density would have to be equal to or greater than 2.4 g/cm3._ **_[Confirm]_ ** _The victim’s clothing makes it difficult to form an accurate wound assessment_ **_[Further analysis required]_ ** _but there are at least six separate instances of blunt impact trauma above the neck. One of these impacts produced a skull fracture. The fissure is 3.1 inches long and 1.45 inches at its widest point. The central processing unit is visible through the skull and is damaged. The extent of the damage is difficult to discern from an exterior angle. **[Further analysis required.]**_

_The skull is partially collapsed from trauma. The victim’s facial features are out of place due to torsion but the postmortem expression indicates immense physical pain. The right eye panel is partially detached._

_Thirium has leaked out of the body cavity and dried. This indicates time of death was more than one hour prior to arrival and investigation which commenced at 0536._

_There is a thin incision in the center of the chest measuring 7.35 inches long. Damage to the skin has caused it to retract. The chest cavity is exposed and has been manually opened._

Connor paused for a moment and cycled a breath of stale warehouse air through his systems before continuing.

_The thirium pump (model #2815) has been removed and destroyed with blunt force, **[Theory]** possibly by the same weapon that was used on the victim. **[/Theory]**_

_There is an incision in the neck measuring 2.87 inches. The vocal modulator has been manually removed (model #4991f). There is scoring from what appears to be a small blade. **[Confirm]**_

_There is an incision at the back of the head measuring 3.12 inches with further indications of scoring from a small blade. **[Confirm]** The network interface card has been removed (model #3808r). This would have disabled all external communications. **[Theory]** This was most likely done to prevent a call for help. **[/Theory]**_

_Victim is deceased. All systems are inoperative. The damage to the central processing unit will most likely make data recovery difficult. **[Further analysis required.]** AP700 models store recordings locally within the processing module (colloquially referred to as a brain). Although there is an option for subscription-based cloud data storage through third party organizations the removal of the network interface card would have impeded all data uploads to a remote server. **[Confirm]**_

Connor stood up and stepped away from the body just as Gavin shifted his attention from Hank’s retreating form to the android detective.

“Give me the serial number,” Gavin demanded. “I need it for the report.”

“I don’t know what it is,” Connor responded distractedly. He was busy studying the dried thirium traces on the floor while internally saving crime scene photos to a dedicated folder.

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know?” Gavin demanded. He stepped closer to Connor and flung an arm out towards the victim. “Isn’t that, like, your whole thing? You show up and lick the evidence, we get to bypass forensics, and everybody goes home happy. So what the fuck?”

Connor frowned and shifted his attention from the task at hand to the obstinate man. “You do realize I have other skills that are far more useful,” he said calmly. “Why don’t we focus on collecting evidence and then forensics can take over once we’re finished and get you the serial number.”

Gavin looked like he was about to blow a fuse. “Forensics doesn’t go on duty for three more hours and you know that as well as I do! Which means we get to sit here on our asses until then! No fucking way!”

A door slammed from the other side of the room and the heavy fall of Hank’s footsteps echoed throughout the cavernous space as he approached.

“What’s your problem now, Reed?” He sounded more irritated than ever.

“What the fuck’s wrong with him?” Gavin asked, frowning. “I need the goddamn serial number so I can file my report!”

Hank walked over and stood next to Connor with his arms folded across his chest. “It’s regulation. He can’t do that any more. Something about procedural handling of evidence. Deal with it.”

Connor shot Hank a grateful look.

The lieutenant spoke to Gavin as though he were explaining the situation to a child. “We can assign an officer to stay behind and keep an eye on things until the techs can get here. Calm down. Is this your first murder case?”

Gavin paced over to the wall and leaned against it in a forced affectation of indifference. “Of course I know that,” he said, some of the fire gone from his tone. “I just don’t get why we have to do things the hard way.”

Hank reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “So you’re telling me that after all your android bashing over the years _now_ you’re pissed off because you have to make do without one? Make up your mind, Reed.”

Connor put a hand on Hank’s arm. “It’s all right. I’ve collected everything I can here. Should we walk the perimeter?”

Hank shifted his focus to Connor and frowned. “Yeah. You should see what they put up outside.”

As they exited the way they came in Connor did another scan to make sure he hadn’t missed any fingerprints but there was nothing. Hank shouted over his shoulder at Gavin where he was still slouched against the wall glaring at his cell phone.

“That door I went out was forced open. That’s our suspect’s entry point. Call the forensic techs and make sure they do a redundant check for prints. I’ll talk to data recovery about trying to see if there’s any video we can pull.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do!” Gavin yelled just before the door swung shut.

Hank paused for a moment and looked over at Connor. “I know that _you_ know this already, but that guy is a fucking jackass.”

Connor’s expression revealed nothing about his thoughts on the subject. “I’m curious to know why Fowler assigned him to work this case with us,” he said.

Hank hunched up his shoulders and raised his eyebrows to indicate that he had no idea either. He turned towards the main door then hesitated.

“Hey, you all right?” he asked. His voice was infused with concern which Connor picked up on immediately. There wasn’t time for him to figure out the answer to that question while they were working a case so he chose to dodge it for the moment.

“I was thinking about the victim’s missing shoe,” he said. “We should check the area to see if we can find it. That would at least tell us which direction they came from.”

“Hm,” Hank grunted, still eying him closely. “Okay.”

Tina Chen was conferring with her partner near the squad cars when they got outside. The two officers halted their conversation and looked over at them expectantly.

“Got any orders, lieutenant?” Robert asked.

Hank nodded. “Yeah, look around for a shoe. What color was it, Connor?”

“Dark green.”

“Right, a green tennis shoe. It may be in the area. Make sure to check the next lot over.”

“On it,” Tina confirmed as she took off. Robert followed a little ways behind.

The morning had brightened considerably as the sun came up but the light was stifled by a thick cloud cover that had rolled in overnight. Connor raised the contrast of his optics as he scanned the area for anything out of place. He followed Hank around to the other side of the building and looked up at the grey stone of the exterior wall.

“There’s our confirmation of a motive,” Hank said. The message glowed eerily in the dull light.

Connor saved a series of photos and walked over to inspect the poles that were generating the screen. He quickly ascertained that there were no fingerprints to be found there, either.

“I’m going to turn it off,” he said to Hank. “There’s nothing here. They must have worn gloves.” He added the findings to his report, then reached out and deactivated the device. The message vanished and the wall was cast in shadow again.

“That it?” Hank asked.

“Yes, unfortunately. It appears they were very careful about not leaving prints. I haven’t found anything.”

“Damn. Well who knows, the techs might come up with something.” He didn’t add how unlikely it was that the forensics techs would uncover evidence that Connor had missed no matter how thorough they were.

They rounded the corner past the loading dock and headed back towards the parking area. The other officer from earlier had returned bearing a tray with three coffees in it. Gavin was commanding the young greenhorn’s attention once more, the carrying sound of his sardonic tone interspersed by sips from his own cup.

The officer caught sight of Hank and Connor approaching from over Gavin’s shoulder and his face brightened with relief.

“Lieutenant Anderson!” he called. “I’ve got your coffee.”

Hank marched over and eagerly received the steaming cup, cradling it in his hands as he took a long pull. His eyes drifted closed with satisfaction.

“That’s hot…” The officer belatedly tried to warn him but the lieutenant paid him no attention.

Connor pulled out his wallet and extended a five dollar bill towards the clean-shaven young man. He took note of the patch on his chest that bore his surname.

“Officer Boyer, is that right?” Connor asked as the money was refused with a waved hand.

“Yes sir, Todd Boyer.” He smiled with unbridled excitement. “And you’re Detective Connor.”

Gavin rolled his eyes and loudly interrupted the introduction. “Yes, big fucking deal, who cares?”

In spite of his derision Connor noted some of the tension was gone from Gavin’s expression. He appeared more at ease as he clutched his espresso drink to his chest.

Officers Chen and Lewis came into view from around the corner and made their way up the sidewalk to join the group. Boyer handed them the two remaining drinks from the tray and they accepted gratefully.

“No sign of a shoe,” Tina reported. “And everything around here is paved so I doubt we’ll find any footprints.”

Hank pulled the coffee away from his face for a moment. “All right then. Chen and Lewis, you can report back and return to your regular duties. Boyer, stay here and watch the building until forensics gets here. When they do I want you to call Detective Reed and let him know, then you stay and help them with whatever they need, got it?”

Officer Boyer nodded intently as Gavin heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Got it.”

Tina tipped her cap to the rest of them then went over and climbed behind the wheel of her patrol car. After another curt nod Officer Lewis joined her and they took off.

Hank took a deep breath and thought for a moment. “Well, guess that’s it for now then,” he said. “Keep us informed, Gavin. Fowler made it clear yesterday he does not want any fucking around on this case or it’s going to blow up in our faces when the media gets wind of it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gavin didn’t appear concerned. “I’ll have the body sent to digital autopsy later.”

Hank grunted and headed towards his car. Connor hung back for a moment as though he wanted to say something, but after an awkward pause he gave them both a polite smile and turned to join Hank.

Gavin watched Hank’s car pull away and then he looked over at Boyer. “So anyway, I was working on getting her bra off and then the door busts open and it’s her fucking _husband_ , can you believe it? Turns out I know the guy from the pool hall, too, so that sucks ‘cause now I probably gotta kick his ass at some point.”

Captain Fowler called Hank’s phone just as they reached the station. He wrestled it out of his jacket pocket and handed it over to his partner while pulling into the parking lot. Connor answered the call.

The captain’s voice held its usual no-nonsense edge. “Status update.”

Connor spoke for them. “I’ve drafted a report but I was waiting for a few details from the forensics technicians before I send it to you. There’s no fingerprints anywhere. A rear exit was pried open, most likely with a crowbar. Unfortunately the security system was removed when the building was vacated three months ago. There was a message left on the exterior wall of the building.”

“I know about the sign,” Fowler replied. “So you found no leads?”

“Nothing useful, no. However if we can extract data from the deceased we might have something to go on.”

There was a pause from Fowler before he spoke. “Send me the report as you have it now and update me as details shape up. I want you to work closely with the data team and try to get something. And find out what you can about the female suspect. Keep me updated.”

The call disconnected.

Hank shut off the car and sat back in his seat with a sigh. “What do you think, Con’, should we work the suspect first or the body?”

“The suspect. We won’t be able to get the AP700’s remains digitally analyzed until later anyway.”

“Right.” Hank nodded. “What’s her name again?”

Connor brought up the image of the brunette woman on his HUD and examined her harsh expression. “Iris McDermott.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated chapter 3 with Laffeetaffee's amazing artwork featuring Connor and Rachel! You should go check it out because it's awesome.


	11. Chapter 11

Rachel’s alarm went off at 8:30 and was quickly silenced by a hand that shot out of the covers. She sat up and got out of bed, groaning as she stretched her fingertips towards the ceiling and then brought them down to her toes. Straightening up, she drew back the curtain and peeked out the window at the awakening city. Dark clouds hid the sun and cast everything in a slightly bluish tint. Rachel grabbed an oversized sweatshirt from a chair in the corner and pulled it over her head, shivering pleasantly as she wrapped her arms around herself.

She didn’t open the shop until 10:00 on Saturdays so she had some time to lounge and enjoy the morning. She dashed to the bathroom and returned a minute later to grab her phone off the nightstand. After careful deliberation she made a selection from her playlist and smiled as lively music floated from a speaker in the living room.

Rachel sang along and snapped her fingers as she swayed into the kitchen. “Coconut woman is calling out, and every day you can hear her shout…”

The pre-programmed coffee maker was already gurgling cheerfully as umber liquid streamed into the pot. Rachel inhaled the welcome scent and continued humming along with the tune as she opened a cupboard. She selected a large rounded mug painted to look like a raccoon and set it on the counter so that she could whirl around with a flourish to snag a carton out of the fridge. She sang under her breath as she poured creamer into the mug.

“Coconut! Coconut!”

She waited a few moments for the last bits of coffee to drip into the pot and then hefted it over to the counter. As she carefully filled her cup a familiar thrill ran through her as the emulsification of the hot and cold liquids produced a satisfying tan-colored mixture. She knew the hex code for the specific shade was #edb879 and it was the standard that she strove for every morning.

Sashaying more carefully now Rachel made her way into the living room with her cup and lowered herself onto the overstuffed floral sofa. She took an experimental sip of the steaming coffee as Harry Belafonte’s jaunty voice was carried to her on dulcet calypso notes from the speaker nearby.

_A lady tell me the other day_

_No one can take her sweet man away_

_I ask her what was the mystery_

_She say coconut water and rice curry_

Connor suddenly entered Rachel’s thoughts. She remembered his focused expression at Nate’s coffee shop as he recalled the name of the song that was playing. She wondered if Connor actually liked music, or if he was just reciting information like an obedient droid. She added that question to the list of things she planned on investigating about him later on.

He was still an enigma to her, albeit an incredibly handsome one, but she was spurned on by the glimpses of his character she had witnessed so far. She knew there was a vibrant personality held captive underneath all of that protocol but she couldn’t figure out how to liberate it.

She smiled as she recalled his charming bewilderment when she had asked him how often he did the crossword puzzle. It all made so much sense now. Why would an android do something as menial as a crossword puzzle when they already had all of the answers a mere query away? Why had he even agreed to help her with it in the first place, for that matter? Surely it was beneath him to associate with a mere mortal at a coffee shop. She frowned with embarrassment as she remembered he didn’t even _drink_ coffee.

What did it all mean? She couldn’t figure him out. He certainly wasn’t interested in her romantically, that much was clear to her. Spending time with him so far had been akin to getting to know the tour guide at an art museum, or perhaps a concierge at a hotel. Affable cordiality combined with an appropriate level of interest in the conversation. A perfectly engineered gentleman.

Rachel’s frown deepened and she reached up to smooth the furrows away. No. She knew there was something more to him than that. She couldn’t produce a concrete reason why if pressed but there was _something_ there. The fleeting moments when his searching dark eyes found hers, or when their hands touched at the coffee shop and a nearly imperceptible current had passed between them. She remembered the way he had stared in awe at the marble fountain. Clearly he was more than just a machine that had been given free will, she knew that much for certain.

She took another sip of her coffee and reflected. She was certainly attracted to _him,_ but that was something she was accustomed to brushing aside in favor of avoiding an inevitable letdown. Repressing her romantic feelings was something that came naturally to her at this point. The thought occurred to her that Connor could definitely benefit from her presence in his life even in a platonic capacity. She could take on the role of a pseudo cultural ambassador and help him actually experience the world around him instead of watching it go by like a passenger on a train.

She smiled as she contemplated future excursions they could go on together.

“Speaker off,” she said loudly and the music stopped. “Television on.”

The screen in front of her came to life. A blond news anchor was in the middle of her report.

“-was apparently bludgeoned to death overnight in a vacant warehouse on Franklin Street. Jessa, can you tell us how someone was able to carry out this gruesome crime in the middle of the downtown district?”

A window popped up in the corner of the screen to display a female reporter in front of a large grey building cordoned off by a line of crime scene tape. Her contoured expression was grim as she tightly clutched her microphone in a manicured hand.

“Yes Aspen, I’m here at 621 Franklin Street reporting live on the situation as it develops. I am told an android was brutally murdered here early this morning. His name has not been released and officers have not identified any suspects yet. There were members of the Detroit Police Department on patrol last night a mere two blocks away but clearly that did nothing to prevent this tragedy from unfolding.”

Aspen nodded and tented her fingers. “Jessa, do we know how the body was discovered?”

“It seems this crime was committed by an organized group. They left behind a message in the form of a digital billboard cast onto one of the walls at the scene of the crime. You can see the building behind me here.”

She raised an arm to indicate the warehouse.

“The location has been empty for several months. How the suspects got in or whether they knew the victim is still under investigation, but we do know this was meant to send a message.”

“And what is the message, Jessa?”

The reporter raised her perfectly-penciled eyebrows. “That has not been disclosed as of yet but we are hoping to speak with Police Commissioner Evander Ward later this morning to get a statement.”

Aspen assumed a look of deep concern. “Those details are very disturbing. That is our own Jessa Collins live on the scene where a violent murder has taken place. Thanks, Jessa.”

The anchor’s voice switched to a cheerful tone. “And up next we have coverage of the annual walk to fight homelessness, right here on DCTV.”

The channel cut to a commercial about cat litter.

“Television off.”

Rachel set her coffee down on a table and leaned forward to rest both elbows on her bare knees, bracing her chin with her hands as she processed what she had just heard. The knowledge that there was an organized group out there somewhere kidnapping and murdering androids to further their political agenda had her feeling both dismayed and depressed. It was a troublesome mix of emotions that effectively stamped her cheerful mood into the ground.

Rachel remembered what Connor had told her. He worked the android cases with his partner, Hank Anderson. She toyed with the idea of sending him a message to ask how he was doing but decided against it. She didn’t want to bother him if he was busy with such an important case.

“Hang in there, Connor,” she said quietly.

“Watch out, Cap’s comin’,” Officer Wilson warned as he swept past Connor’s desk on the way to his own. Wilson had pulled a Saturday shift that week so he was one of a few people in the precinct while Hank and Connor tried to track down Iris McDermott via digital records. So far they had not gotten anywhere.

Fowler usually came in for a few hours on Saturdays to go over the weekend caseload in person, but that morning the murder had ended up monopolizing his time. He had been on the phone ever since Connor and Hank had come in.

Connor looked up from his terminal to see Fowler himself marching down the stairs from his office with a furious look on his face. He turned towards the detective’s desk and approached, the rage he exuded nearly palpable. His massive fists clenched and unclenched as he stood in front of Connor, his eyes darting over to Hank’s empty desk.

“Where. Is. Anderson.” He ground out the words from between clenched teeth.

Connor swallowed forcefully to try and squash the anxiety that sprang up at the sight of his superior in such a foul mood. It did nothing to help.

“He’s just stepped away from his desk for a moment,” he said, managing to maintain an outwardly composed appearance as he looked up at Fowler from his seat.

Hank chose that moment to stroll up the hall from the bathroom, his focus on wiping his wet hands on his pants as he returned to his desk. He looked up and caught sight of Fowler, the scene causing him to stop several feet away from the two of them.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

Fowler turned towards Hank looking for all the world as though smoke was about to start pouring out of his ears. He said one word.

 _“Boyer_.”

Hank frowned. “The new kid? What’d he do?”

On a hunch Connor performed a quick search. He pulled up the headline in less than a second, then he found the news report a moment later and watched it at twenty times the standard playback speed.

“He talked to the media,” he told Hank.

There was a pause as Fowler simmered between them. Hank looked slightly abashed. He reached up and scrubbed at the back of his neck. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” Fowler said. “As in, oh, I just got a call from the commissioner asking why he has to scramble together a statement on a crime he knows fuck all about! Which lead to more questions. Why is he learning that we’re dealing with an android hate crime from the press and not from his precinct captain? And also, why the _fuck_ is a fucking rookie _officer_ talking to reporters about a _murder case_?”

Hank pulled himself together and dropped into his default state for when he was on the defensive - headstrong disagreement.

“Now hold on a second. This ain’t on us. We left Reed in charge while we came back to brief you and work the suspect.”

Fowler’s deep voice resonated throughout the precinct. “ _You_ _’re_ the ranking lieutenant on this case which means if I say it’s your ass, Anderson, that means it’s _your ass._ You’re supposed to be coordinating this investigation. Now get me something I can deliver to Commissioner Ward before he goes in front of the cameras at 11:30 or I will give him your carcass to sink his teeth into, got it?”

Hank looked like he was about to argue but a sharp look from Connor made his mouth snap shut. He glowered for a moment.

“Yeah all right, we’re working on it. I’ll get you something,” he said grudgingly.

Fowler stalked off back to his office and shut the door behind him. Hank came over and sank into his chair with a heavy sigh. For a moment Wilson looked as though he were about to come over and ask about Fowler’s outburst but Connor caught his eye and shook his head. His friend shot a finger gun in his direction, nodded, and sat back down.

“I’m getting way too old for this shit,” Hank said bitterly.

“No you’re not,” Connor demurred in a matter-of-fact tone. “You’re still an excellent and fully capable police lieutenant. I’m sure Fowler is just upset that he got reprimanded by Commissioner Ward.”

Hank shook his head. “When I get my hands on Boyer,” he said quietly.

Connor remembered the young officer’s fresh-faced enthusiasm and he winced. “Go easy on him, Hank. Everybody makes mistakes sometimes.”

Hank sighed again and looked over at Connor. “So what’s our move?” he asked wearily. “I could really use your superpowers on this one, Con’.”

“Already on it,” the android responded with a small smile as he turned back towards his computer terminal. “I authenticated access to the public works surveillance system. I checked the recordings from last night for every camera in a quarter mile radius of the scene.”

He paused and waited as Hank got up from his desk and walked around to stand next to Connor. “And?” Hank asked, not bothering to hide his eagerness.

“There is something,” Connor said, a gleam in his eye. He tapped the keyboard on his desk and a video file began to play. The footage was recorded in the varying shades of black, white, and grey that comprised night vision but the details were surprisingly sharp. It was a view of an empty street lined with sidewalk and a tall chain-link fence in the background. The time stamp read 01:22:48.

“This is from two blocks northeast on Orleans Street. Watch,” Connor said.

A van entered the frame from the left. It was moving along at a crawl. Hank recognized it immediately.

“Holy shit,” he said. “That’s the fucking van.”

The front plate had been removed but they could clearly determine the make and model of the vehicle.

“White 2031 Chevrolet Astro,” Connor said. “Now look, in a second the glare from the street light shifts as the van moves closer and you can see into the cab.”

Sure enough a moment later the interior of the vehicle was thrown into focus. There were two people inside. Both were wearing what looked like ski masks.

“God fucking dammit,” Hank said vehemently. “There goes that lead.”

“Hold on,” Connor reassured him. He dragged the slider on the video forward, causing the digital clock in the upper right hand corner to speed up until the numbers flew by. He resumed normal playing speed at 02:41:16.

The street was empty for only a moment before the van drove by again going the other way. This time neither of the occupants had masks on. There was a bearded man behind the wheel and in the passenger seat sat Iris McDermott looking disgruntled just like she did in her ancestry photo from the database. Connor froze the frame and sent it to a nearby printer.

Hank was speechless for a moment. He let out a disbelieving bark of laughter. “Wait a second, are they really that stupid?” he asked.

“It appears so,” Connor responded, his smile a bit bigger now. He rose from his swivel chair and went over to the printer to retrieve the image then handed it over to Hank.

“I’ve already run facial recognition on the male suspect. His name is Magnus Fischer, born January 5th, 2004 in Seattle, Washington. He’s worked several temp jobs in a handful of different states but it looks like he’s been collecting public assistance here in Michigan for the last two years.”

“Any work history during that time?” Hank asked.

“Nothing on file with the labor department, no. But his application for benefits has an address listed. 2244 Montclair Street.”

Hank reflexively rested a hand on the butt of his gun as he thought ahead. “Jesus Christ. Could it really be that simple for once?”

Connor lifted his shoulders slightly as he tried out a shrug. “I’ll go inform Captain Fowler.”

They got an emergency warrant signed by a circuit judge in less than an hour. Fowler ended up insisting that they take nearly every on-duty officer along with them, which ended up being six extra bodies in three squad cars in addition to an ambulance on standby. Gavin Reed was absent as he was still tied up with forensics at the crime scene.

They rolled up quietly in front of the residence on Montclair Street at 10:05 am with lights and sirens deactivated. Hank climbed out of the car and adjusted the ballistic vest he had donned back at the station, then opened the back door and leaned inside to rummage around.

“Connor!” he shouted. “C’mere.”

The detective walked around to Hank’s side of the car and waited. “I’m here,” he said.

Hank extracted himself from the backseat and stood, a pump action 12 gauge shotgun clutched in his hands. He handed it over to Connor.

“You remember how to use one of these, I’m sure,” he said wryly. “There’s four cartridges in there. Check it to be sure.”

As Connor pressed open the shell elevator to confirm that the weapon was loaded Hank stooped back into the car to retrieve a second shotgun for himself. He checked for rounds then firmly cycled the action to chamber one into place with a trained decisiveness borne of years of experience.

“Ready?” he asked Connor. The other officers around them had their weapons drawn and were looking over to Hank for instructions.

Connor nodded. “Yes, I’m ready. Let me go in first, okay?”

Hank rolled his eyes. “When you gonna stop trying to be the hero all the time?”

His partner didn’t back down, meeting Hank’s eyes in an unwavering challenge. As usual Hank relented. “Yeah, all right. Go ahead. You’ve got your vest on, right?”

Connor started to say that he had taken bullets before without any permanent damage but the look in Hank’s eyes made him modify his response. “Yes, I have it on.”

Hank turned to address the other officers. “I want half of you to secure the perimeter, the other half follow us inside and then wait until my mark, got it?” They murmured their acknowledgment. Hank looked back over at Connor and inclined his head towards the shabby single story home.

“Well then go get ‘em, kid.”

The two of them started up the walkway to the front door. The property was in shambles. They had to step over piles of stacked cardboard and ripped bags of trash to get up the steps. Hank waited in the wings while Connor leaned over and knocked loudly on the door.

“Open up. Detroit Police!” he shouted. Immediately from within came the sound of bodies scrambling into action.

“Do it,” Hank instructed. Connor was grateful for the steel lining in his boots as he brought up a knee and delivered a kick to a spot next to the keyhole. His carbon fiber frame provided the extra force necessary to separate the wood from the lock completely and the broken door swung open and embedded itself firmly in the wall.

Connor lead with the shotgun barrel as he entered the room, Hank right behind him.

They were in the living room. It stank of rot and human waste but it was empty. Connor made eye contact with Hank and nudged his chin towards the hallway. Hank nodded and they crept across the threadbare carpet towards the other part of the house.

The first door on the left was open to reveal a bathroom. Connor quickly cleared it and they moved on down the hall while avoiding piled debris that threatened to trip them up.

A few feet further down was a closed door. Connor listened for a moment but it was quiet. He nodded to Hank, feeling his thirium pump beat faster in response to the tension, then kicked open the door and burst into the room with the shotgun pointed ahead.

“Don’t shoot us!” a man’s gravelly voice came from where he was peeking out of the closet, accompanied by a terrified wail from behind the queen-sized bed taking up most of the meager floor space.

“They’re gonna kill us, Turtle! Oh my lord Jesus, save me!” The voice from behind the bed was feminine.

Hank shoved his way past Connor into the room.

“Get the _fuck_ out of that closet with your hands in the _fucking_ air right now!” he shouted. Connor’s eyes widened slightly at the intensity behind his words. He circled around to the other side of the bed and trained his shotgun on the woman huddled there before quickly deeming her a non-threat.

There was a brief pause, then the trembling voice came again from behind the folding closet door. “Yes, I’m coming out now officer. Please don’t shoot me, okay?”

The door slid open and a rail-thin shirtless man came stumbling out with his hands raised. Hank stepped back and kept the gun trained on him.

“Now get on the floor with your hands over your head. Hurry up,” he commanded sternly, the ferocity in his voice greatly reduced by the pathetic sight of their suspect. The other man complied sluggishly as though he were moving underwater. Once his hands were folded over his stringy hair Hank turned his head and shouted back the way they had come.

“I need an officer in here!”

One of the cops in uniform thudded down the hall from where they had been poised ready and waiting in the living room. Hank glanced at her and jerked his head towards the man on the floor.

“Handcuff him.”

She knelt and guided the man’s arms down behind his back and then diligently secured a set of cuffs on his wrists as she Mirandized him.

“How’s yours?” Hank asked Connor, turning his attention to the woman behind the bed. Her untidily shaved head was bowed between her legs as she rocked back and forth on the floor.

“She appears to be unarmed,” Connor said. This was evidenced by the fact that the woman had no clothes on.

“Right,” Hank said. “I’m going to check the rest of the house. You stay here.” Connor frowned but Hank was already moving towards the bedroom door.

“Is there anyone else in the home?” Hank asked the handcuffed suspect. He emitted a drawn-out groan before answering.

“Um. No. No, there isn’t. At least, there shouldn’t be. Unless you count rats and roaches. Then I would say there’s lots of others in the home, right, Panda?” He giggled into the filthy carpet.

Hank snorted. “Great. I’ll be back in a minute.”

The officer stood up to peer over at the woman on the floor beside Connor. She raised her eyebrows at him questioningly.

“You want me to cuff that one too, Detective?”

Connor shook his head.

“No, we should get her covered up and assessed by the medical team.” He glanced over at the man face-down on the floor where he was busy quietly muttering to himself. “I believe these individuals may be under the influence of mind-altering substances.”

“No shit,” the officer said under her breath, then she checked herself and smiled contritely at Connor. “Good call, Detective. Wilco.”

The officer grabbed a radio from her hip and called in a couple of EMTs from outside then stood at the ready next to the man on the floor to await their arrival. Hank returned a moment later, his shotgun held in one hand pointed towards the ceiling.

“Building’s clear,” he said. “There’s two other bedrooms full of junk and that’s it.”

Hank and Connor stepped out into the hallway to allow the medical technicians into the tiny bedroom. Hank called over to the officer standing in the corner.

“I want him in a squad car and get her checked out then sent to the station as soon as she’s cleared,” he told her.

The officer nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Hank looked over at Connor as they stood in the hall, disappointment and frustration written across his face. It was clear that he had hoped to surprise their murder suspects instead of a pair of addled junkies. Connor remained staunchly optimistic.

“Let’s see what they say during the interview,” he mollified.

“Yeah.” Hank didn’t seem enthusiastic but he forced a small smile for his partner anyway. “Let’s get out of here. It reeks.”

“I’ll meet you outside,” Connor said. “I’m going to check the house first. It will only take a few minutes.”

Hank grunted in confirmation and made his way down the hall and out past the shards from the splintered door still hanging from the frame. Connor followed him into the living room and paused to perform a scan of the interior as he simultaneously began to fill out a fresh report. There were plenty of fingerprints on most available hard surfaces but Connor had a feeling they all belonged to the couple in the bedroom. A quick check of the database confirmed his theory. The prints brought up records for a Theodore Boggs and a Penelope Sanders. Both had an extensive drug history on file.

He stepped around the ragged couch in the living room and took internal photographs of the paraphernalia scattered across the floor. It appeared the drug of choice was injected red ice. The plastic bag containing the powder had been kicked partially under the couch but was still visible. Connor checked the spoon and lighter that he found for prints and was able to match a few latents to Theodore Boggs. The cap from a syringe nearby still had traces of saliva on it from where somebody had pulled it off with their teeth.

The cramped kitchen was attached to the living room. Connor stepped over to the threshold and peered into the space. He detected a layer of dust that had only been disturbed recently by what was mostly likely rodents. There were clear impressions from tiny paws across the counter combined with an appalling amount of droppings scattered across every surface. As he watched a cockroach scuttled out of a pile of moldy dishes and disappeared beneath a plastic bag.

Connor felt repulsion growing in the pit of his stomach which manifested as the urge to get as far away from the place as possible. He frowned as he allowed the feeling to pass through him, analyzing it with scientific detachment. He wondered how this situation was any different from the pigeon-infested apartment that had belonged to the deviant Rupert. He had not felt any sort of disgust then. He tried to figure out what had changed, then stopped himself and efficiently filed his self-examination away for later in order to continue the task at hand.

The EMTs came through with Penelope wrapped in a blanket and supported between two of them. Her eyes were wide with shock and delirium. They were followed shortly after by the female officer as she guided Theodore out into the light of day. His ribs protruded through skin that was too pale from lack of sunlight. As he passed by Connor he flashed a smile full of rotting, broken teeth.

“That stuff over there isn’t mine,” he said, then cackled all the way out the door.

Connor waited for them to leave before he went back down to the bedrooms. He checked the other two rooms first but as Hank said they were both piled from floor to ceiling with what appeared to be a variety of trash, children’s toys, and furniture. He went back to the other bedroom and stood in the middle of the floor to initiate his scan. There were fingerprints on the dresser, bed frame, and the glass pane of the single window. All of them matched either Theodore or Penelope. There were traces of dried semen and blood on the dirty mattress. ( ** _[Further analysis required]_** )

Connor folded his arms across his chest and frowned as he considered anything he might have missed. In spite of the house’s cluttered state there was a surprising lack of diverse evidence to be found. It seemed the two occupants spent most of their time shooting up red ice in the living room, urinating in the general direction of the toilet, and having sex on the bare mattress in the bedroom. There didn’t appear to be any other aspects worth investigating. He only hoped they would be able to deliver a coherent statement at the station.

Once he was back outside he made his way over to Hank where he was focused on shucking off his bullet proof vest. Now free of the protective gear he chucked it into the back of his car where the shotgun rested in its plastic case on the bench seat. He straightened and noticed Connor standing patiently near the hood, his fingertips tracing the cool metal absent-mindedly.

“Find anything worthwhile?” Hank asked, then answered his own question. “Nah. You didn’t.” He shook his head. “Oh well, my father always said there ain’t nothing in this life that’s worthwhile comes easy.”

He pulled his paisley shirt back on and buttoned it up while Connor unloaded his shotgun and put it away in its own case. Connor could sense his partner’s post-adrenaline fatigue coming on and that, combined with his frustration at the lack of a meaningful arrest, meant there was most likely a storm brewing behind his steely blue eyes.

Fortunately he was well-versed enough in such scenarios to know how to avoid it entirely.

“Let’s stop by The Chicken Feed on the way back to the station,” he suggested brightly. “I’ll buy you lunch.”

Hank eyed him suspiciously as though sensing there was a ploy afoot but he quickly softened in the face of Connor’s guileless affability.

“Yeah, all right. Chicken Feed sounds good.”

*


	12. Chapter 12

Hank and Connor arrived back at the station not long after the officers from Montclair Street did. Connor had offered to drive so that Hank could ride along and finish his lunch from the Chicken Feed. He pulled into a parking space in the sparsely populated lot and rested his head back against the worn leather seat to give his friend a few more minutes.

Connor glanced over and eyed Hank’s meal as he tried to figure out what had caused the habitual man to change his order for the first time since he had known him. He hadn’t ever suspected that Hank even _liked_ whole wheat tortillas, especially not when they were stuffed with so much lettuce. Even Gary had looked surprised from behind the counter as Hank made his order. He had asked the lieutenant to repeat himself just to be certain before turning towards the prep counter to start the chicken Caesar wrap with a confused look on his face. Connor felt the same confusion as he tried to pin down which variable had changed to cause this salubrious shift in the established routine. Hank steadily munched away in the seat beside him, oblivious to his friend’s scrutiny.

He was distracted from his thoughts by an internal text message notification that popped up in the corner of his HUD. Connor noted with curiosity that it was from Gavin Reed. The other detective had never texted him before. He opened the message.

[ _Finally done here. Back in 10 mins. Body will be downstairs with DF to get ID._ ]

Gavin’s tone was noticeably more civil in text form. Connor thought this was most likely because he didn’t want to bother with typing out his usual litany of curses and insults. He quickly sent a message back.

[ _Good. I will meet them in the lab. Where is Officer Boyer?_ ]

He waited for a response, his palms resting on his thighs as he sat motionlessly behind the wheel.

Hank leveled a shrewd look at his partner, giving off the impression of a suspicious bearded goat as he slowly chewed and swallowed the last bite of his lunch. “You’re being quiet. What are you doing in your head over there?”

A corner of Connor’s mouth twitched upwards at being found out. “I’ve just received a message from Detective Reed. He says they’re finished and will be sending the body to digital forensics right away to identify it.”

The response came through from Gavin. [ _He_ _’s busy having a panic attack in his squad car atm._ ]

Connor frowned as Hank replied. “Good. You can go down and do techy stuff with those guys while I play bad cop in the interview room with the dopers.”

Connor sent another message to Gavin. [ _Let me talk to him, please._ ]

The response came quickly. [ _What for? His ass is grass anyway._ ] There was the Gavin that Connor was familiar with. He persisted.

[ _Please. Just for a minute._ ]

Hank climbed out of his car and stretched, then looked over at Connor expectantly. “You coming?” he asked.

“Just a minute,” Connor said. “I’ll meet you inside shortly.”

Hank looked curious but he shrugged and slammed his car door shut. “’Kay. Just remember to lock it.” He headed inside just as Connor’s VoIP system began to buzz to indicate an incoming call from Gavin’s phone. Connor answered it.

“D-detective?” The voice belonged to Officer Boyer. He sounded like a wreck. Connor modulated his tone to be as comforting as possible, something he was skilled at thanks to his extensive built-in negotiation protocols.

“Officer Boyer. Everything is going to be all right. Do you understand?”

“I s-s-screwed up.” The words came out quivery and full of stutters like a child with a skinned knee. “That pretty reporter lady, she was asking questions, a-and I wasn’t _thinking_ _…”_

“No, you’re all right. Everything is fine. Take a deep breath, okay?”

He heard the sound of Boyer sucking in a gulp of air and then letting it out slowly. When he spoke again he sounded a little bit more calm. “He’s gonna f-fire me.”

“Captain Fowler is not going to fire you.”

There was a brief pause. “I love this job.”

Connor felt a sharp pang somewhere in his chest. He recognized it as empathy. He too carried fears surrounding his performance within the D.P.D. and he didn’t know what he would do if he were ever deprived of his position. In that moment Connor realized how much the job meant to him. The revelation strengthened his determination to help Boyer through his own fears.

“Boyer.” The android’s voice was comforting.

“Uh huh.”

“I want you to take the rest of the day off. Go home and relax.”

“B-but the captain-”

“I’ll tell him I sent you home. I was going to talk to him anyway. We’ve made a major break in the case. Everything is under control. Go enjoy the rest of the weekend and we’ll see you on Monday morning.”

There was a loud sniff from the other end followed by some throat-clearing. “Okay. Thanks, Detective.” Boyer’s voice cracked, the gratitude evident in his tone. Connor thought he sounded much better at least. He heard Gavin’s muffled voice from somewhere nearby, then Boyer spoke again.

“Uh, here’s Detective Reed. Th-thanks again. Bye.”

Gavin sounded annoyed. “Is your therapy session over? Can I have my phone back? ‘Cause I’ve got work to do. See you at the station.” He hung up.

Connor sat for a moment longer with Hank’s car keys clutched in his hand. He let out a sigh of warm air heated by biocomponents and then he got out of the car, pressed the manual lock on the door, and closed it firmly behind him. He needed to get to work in order to make good on his peace offering to Fowler. He didn’t want to end up a liar when it came to Officer Boyer’s job security.

Once he was inside Connor headed towards the stairs that lead to the building’s lower level. On the way he stopped by Hank’s desk to check in. He was chatting with one of the officers from Montclair Street, a mustached older man with short salt and pepper hair. As Connor approached them the officer fingered the brim of his cap respectfully and headed off towards the break room.

Connor crossed his arms and leaned against Hank’s desk as he tried to appear casual. “Are you sure you want to do the interview alone? I could stay and help.”

Hank shook his head. “Nah, you heard Fowler. And for once I agree with him; it makes sense. Anyway I’ll be fine. Been a little while since I got a stab at an interrogation. When I get in there I’m cracking skulls!”

Connor eyed Hank to see if the man was joking or not. Hank smirked at him. “Calm down, it’s from an old movie.”

“Oh,” Connor replied, relieved. “So do they have their own attorney or will they be assigned public defenders?”

“Not sure yet, but I’m going to take a wild guess and say neither of those two can afford a lawyer. The arraignment for the drug possession won’t be until this afternoon and then it’ll probably be some time tomorrow before they can get lawyered up, maybe not even until Monday. And you know what that means, don’t ya?” He looked like a smug cat with a mouse.

Connor did. It meant a chance at an unfiltered confession if they played their cards right. But a confession to what, neither of them was certain. Hopefully it would include something useful besides where they copped their drugs.

“Well, good luck then,” Connor said. “I’ll check in with you later.”

“Yup.” Hank turned go to the interview rooms, then he hesitated. “Uh, hey, say hello to Jasmine for me if you see her, willya?”

Connor smiled. “Of course.”

The lower level was quiet. Most of the labs were dark and empty behind their glass walls. Connor made his way past several departments towards a slab of artificial light spilling into the hall. He stepped into the fluorescent glow and took a moment to observe the bustle behind the transparent divider that separated him from the digital forensics lab.

Their work area was larger than most to afford enough space for an imposing surgical table as well as a variety of instruments that resembled medical equipment. It looked like a small scale operating room but Connor knew that it was not built for any human patients. The AP700 was already laid out on the steel table, his hands folded over his stomach as though he were being prepared for burial. Connor could make out the skull fracture partially hidden in his blond hair. It still glowed faintly with blue light from within.

The forensics technicians always seemed so capable and self-sufficient to Connor and this case was no different. There were four people in the room with white lab coats thrown on over their street clothes. They were moving about the space in a coordinated manner. Connor hadn’t met anyone from the digital forensics team but he recognized one of the techs as Jasmine DeMartin from data recovery. Her mane of curly hair was pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head and she wore a pair of violet-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of her nose as she peered at a laptop set up near the android. She was a calm epicenter amid the flurry of activity.

Connor reached into his pocket and pinched the quarter between thumb and forefinger as he stepped into the room. The occupants glanced up at him. One of them gave a curt nod and returned to his task while his partner kept on staring, starry-eyed. Jasmine smiled brilliantly and waved as a man with jet black hair shaved into an undercut approached.

“You’re Detective Connor.” His voice was low but he enunciated each word clearly. “And you’ve been sent to assist us with the android.”

Connor couldn’t get a reading off the man. He seemed almost sarcastic, or perhaps amused by something that remained unclear. Connor forced a smile by default. “Yes, that’s correct. How can I help?”

There was an empty pause before Jasmine called out. “Hey, Connor!” She gestured for him to come over.

Connor met the other man’s inscrutable expression with another smile and then went to join Jasmine. She had a long cable hanging around her neck as she craned to peer at the laptop screen where it was perched atop a small cart on wheels. Connor stood behind her and leaned in closer to see what she was doing. His gaze flickered over to the mangled body beside them before he refocused his attention on the screen.

“I was just about to plug in and see what’s still viable,” she told him. “Such a terrible crime, isn’t it? I hope you boys catch whoever did this because they are really sick.”

Connor watched her adjust some settings within the data recovery application as he answered her. “We’re working hard to do so. …Hank says hello, by the way.”

Jasmine twisted around in her seat to look up at Connor, her eyes twinkling as she directed a sly grin at him. “Oh _does_ he, now? Well you can tell him that _Jasmine_ says he can come down here and say hello in person.” She chuckled. “The gauntlet is thrown.”

Connor wasn’t quite sure what she meant but he nodded. “I will be sure to let him know.”

Jasmine turned back to her computer. “Have you met these guys yet?” she asked.

“Not officially, no,” he replied.

She pointed in the general direction of the other three people in the room without looking up. “So the one you just talked to is the department head Ronin Archer. The other two are his techs Zara Bennett and Corbin Garcia.”

The woman called Zara looked up at the sound of her name and gave Connor a shy smile. He automatically returned the gesture.

“Guys, this is Connor,” Jasmine announced. Ronin tore his attention away from the tablet in his hand and raised an eyebrow theatrically.

“We know. Your reputation precedes you, detective.”

Connor wasn’t sure what to say, but Ronin continued. “So what’s so special about this case? Upstairs never took this much of an interest with any of the other machines we analyzed before.” Connor detected a subtle emphasis on the word _machines_.

It couldn’t hurt to bring up something that was already public knowledge, Connor reasoned. “I assume you’ve heard what’s being included in the news reports.”

“Yes, I have,” Ronin replied. “And one might say it was only a matter of time before this sort of thing happened.” His tone indicated he had a well-formed opinion on the subject but he did not elaborate further.

Connor nodded. “Yes, I agree.” They let the subject drop after that.

Jasmine sat up straight and clapped her hands lightly together. “Okay, I’m ready. Here we go. Connor, do you mind?” She uncoiled the long cable from where it hung loosely around her neck and handed one end over to him.

He recognized it as a CyberLife transfer cable like the one they had used to copy over files in the data lab. He hesitated and looked around for latex gloves before he touched the android. He didn’t want to risk contaminating it.

“Here you go.” Zara came over with a box and held it out to him. “I guess you’d probably need a size large, huh?”

“Thank you.” Connor dug out a pair of gloves and pulled them on. The girl was still staring at him with the box in her hand, a wistful smile pulling at her lips. Connor wondered if she needed something further from him.

“Zara. Come help me with this.” She snapped out of her reverie and dropped the box, then hastily bent to retrieve it before she darted over to assist Corbin with laying out bright blue sterile sheets on a table.

Ronin laid the tablet down on a desk and turned towards Jasmine as she plugged the other end of the cable into her laptop. He folded his arms across his chest and frowned slightly.

“As soon as you’re done with _that_ will you kindly let me know so that I can proceed with the autopsy?” he inquired, his eyes narrowing.

Jasmine flashed him a thumbs-up. “Absolutely, Ronin. This will only take a minute.”

Connor glanced over at Jasmine and she nodded. He braced the back of the android’s skull up with one hand while he reached down to plug in the cable with the other. The white framework was already exposed at the back of the neck from wounds sustained during the attack so he was able to locate the inlaid port easily and plug the connector in. He gently lowered the head back down onto the polished steel surface, trying not to look at the android’s disfigured face as he did so.

Jasmine tapped a few keys on the laptop and waited, then let out a discontented hum. She opened up a command prompt and attempted to manually connect to the android’s file directory but the cursor blinked futilely in place.

“Crud,” she said, and a sinking feeling pulled at Connor from somewhere deep down. He knew what he would have to do.

“What’s the matter?” Ronin asked loftily. “Can’t get a connection? It’s probably been bricked. I’ve seen it before.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry, _he_ _’s_ probably been bricked.”

Connor removed his gloves and dropped them into a nearby wastebasket.

Jasmine pushed her glasses up her nose with a finger. “Yes, that’s certainly a strong possibility. The core system files may have been corrupted from being forced to shut down while stuck in a recovery loop from the auto-repair sequence. And if I were to hook him up to try and restore the kernel it’s probably going to overwrite the entire file structure and we’d lose everything.”

Ronin shrugged indifferently. “Well, you can connect the body to the charge station in the corner if you think it would help.”

Jasmine shook her head. “Thanks, but that won’t repair the boot sector to enable a connection for data transfer. The most it would do is charge the battery some more.” She made a frustrated sound.

As they deliberated Connor reached out unnoticed and clasped the dead android’s hand in his own. The connection was instantaneous. His systems recognized the AP700’s broken file structure and repaired it effortlessly. Then the data began pouring in as the automatic sync and transfer initiated.

Connor’s eyes fluttered shut as he was flooded with information. He couldn’t even begin to control the tide, let alone try to organize it. He was able to glean the android’s sense of identity and the name he had chosen for himself. _I am Russell, serial #228 741 259-83._ Bits and pieces from Russell’s recent memory flashed vividly through Connor’s mind as though he were experiencing each moment himself.

_Celeste leads me by the hand to get in line to buy tickets for the movie. Her golden hair catches the sunlight as she looks back over her shoulder and laughs._

_…._

_I am paying special attention to each item as I stack the groceries neatly inside the bag in order to conserve space. I see Mr. Roy watching me. He looks angry. I know he doesn’t like when I take too long but I’m trying to do a good job._

_…_

_It’s dark out and the bus is late again. Maybe I will walk home. It’s only thirty four minutes away. A van pulls up and a woman leans out the window. She wants to know if I would like a ride. She seems friendly._

_…_

_There’s thick cloth across my face and I can’t see and they’re holding me down and twisting my arms back and it hurts. Pain is new and it’s terrible and I want it to stop but they won’t get off of me and now they’re cutting into my skin with something sharp and it hurts. I scream but it doesn’t stop._

The next memory was more detailed than the rest. Now there was cold concrete beneath Russell’s legs as he knelt on the floor. Connor saw masked faces at the edges of the android’s vision. Terror override all other sensations until it was all he could feel. The panic clawed its way up the captive android’s throat until he felt it constrict. Russell’s thirium pump beat out a rapid-fire rhythm in his chest as his systems operated in a hyper-stimulated state.

The victim’s thoughts were crystal clear in Connor’s mind as if they were his own.

_I’m so scared. I want to live. Please. …I want to see Celeste again._

_This isn’t fair. It isn’t right. I can’t—_

**_[Critical damage to central processing unit. Initiate reboot sequence.]_ **

Connor felt stabbing pain blossom in his head as the scene cut to black. He cried out sharply and fell to the floor of the lab, clutching his head as the agony quickly dulled and faded away with the receding memory.

“Connor!” Jasmine shouted with alarm. She leapt from her seat and crouched down next to him with her hands resting lightly on his back. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

Connor couldn’t answer for a moment. The memory of the pain was nearly as insistent as the actual nervous system response itself. He closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath to refocus himself.

“I’m…fine,” he managed. He stood up slowly. Jasmine hovered with her palms still braced against his blazer.

Zara and Corbin stared with wide eyes from across the room. Both of them were frozen in the middle of arranging steel instruments on a tray. Ronin watched the events unfold with undisguised interest from a few feet away. He made no move to offer assistance.

“What _was_ that, Connor?” Jasmine asked again, and then realization struck her. “Did you…Were you connected to the AP700?”

Connor nodded. “Yes, I was able to form a connection and sync data from the past several days. As much as I could store temporarily, at least.”

Jasmine stared at him without speaking as her mind worked. Connor saw the concern there, but there was also an unquenchable spark of curiosity that no doubt was the reason she was the head of her department. She had an innate ability to implement the scientific method all the way through to a logical conclusion no matter what.

“Was there anything useful?” she asked. Her glasses had slid down her nose again.

“Yes. So far I’ve been able to link one of the suspects to the murder.”

Jasmine exultantly raised a fist in the air and let out a small squeal. “Yes! Nice work, Connor.” She hesitated. “…Are you sure you’re all right? Do you want me to get Hank?”

He shook his head. “No, really, I’m fine. But thank you. As a matter of fact I was headed to see him after this, so you really don’t need to be concerned.”

Ronin cleared his throat loudly. “Excellent. I’m glad we’ve established that. Then I suppose that means my team can get started, yes?”

Connor started walking towards the door as Jasmine answered. “Yes, all right! Let me just get my computer out of your way…” She looked up and caught Connor just before he passed through the sliding glass door. “Bye, Connor! See you around! Be safe!”

He raised three fingers in a silent salute as he smiled at her and stepped out of the room.

A little ways down the hall Connor spotted a bathroom. He ducked inside and leaned against the door, letting out a long, heated breath as his overworked internal components struggled to process the influx of data from the AP700. It had taken all of his concentration just to maintain his outward composure back in the lab, although he had a sense that Ronin suspected something from the way he had stared so intently.

He walked over to the counter and stood in front of the mirror as he manually allocated most of his CPU power to completing the task. If anyone came in it would appear as though he were simply washing his hands and it would allow him a few minutes to finish churning through the data. He put himself into low power mode with proximity activation sensitivity set to high. Sights and sounds ceased and he was cocooned in darkness as his environmental sensors went into standby mode.

As his stream of consciousness dwindled he became aware of the urge to know what Rachel was doing at that moment. He deliberated only briefly and then sent her a text message.

[ _Rachel? Are you busy?_ ]

She responded quickly. [ _Hi Connor! Are you doing ok? I saw the news._ ]

[ _I_ _’m all right. What are you doing?_ ]

[ _Nada, just eating a salad at the shop. I’m boring lol._ ]

[ _No, you’re not boring to me at all. Will you tell me what is in your salad?_ ]

[ _It’s my favorite. It's got spinach, raspberry dressing, strawberry slices, and some goat cheese crumbled in there. Why do you want to know?_ ]

[ _No particular reason. Have you had many customers today so far?_ ]

As he drifted aimlessly in his own personal limbo and texted back and forth with her Connor felt the familiar calm that she imbued in him. In his own private universe carved out between the digits of his code where he was an intangible entity there was always a temptation to allow himself to fizzle out into nothingness until his sensors woke him up. But with Rachel he fought to maintain the connection. She brought out something in him that craved emotional contact and he was powerless to resist it.

An alert indicated that he had completed assessing the data from the AP700. He dismissed the notification and switched his system back over to regular operation. His reflection in the mirror materialized at the same time that the sound of air passing through the HVAC system did.

Connor sent another message.

[ _I have to go. Can I call you tomorrow? There is a lot going on today._ ]

[ _Sure! The shop is closed all day so I_ _’ll just be hanging out. Good luck finding those bastards._ ]

[ _Thanks, Rachel. Goodbye for now._ ]

[ _Bye :-)_ ]

Connor exited the bathroom and reviewed the data from the victim as he headed upstairs. Out of all of it the only relevant pieces were the last few hours of the android’s life as he was kidnapped and murdered and even that did not reveal much in the way of new information. The only unmasked face was Iris McDermott’s as she leaned out of the van window to speak to Russell. Connor knew that the vehicle as well as her DNA at the first crime scene would be enough to convict her of the murder, now they only had to locate her. Hopefully she was still with her accomplice Magnus Fischer.

He turned into the hall where the interview rooms were and glanced up at the indicator lights over each pair of doors, one entry for each side of the observation glass. Room one had a red LED which meant that it was occupied. The digital schedule on the wall confirmed that it contained Hank and the female suspect, Penelope Sanders. Connor pressed his palm against the lock panel on the wall and after a moment the door slid open to reveal the dimly lit observation room.

Gavin was seated with his arms folded on the sill of the one-way mirror, his forehead pressed against the glass as he watched Hank with the female suspect on the other side of the partition. He looked up as the door opened and his expression bunched into annoyance at the sight of the android detective but he made no motion to leave. Connor hesitated, then made a decision and went over to take the other chair near Gavin.

They sat without speaking for a minute as they listened to Hank work the suspect. The lieutenant had many years under his belt when it came to interrogation and it was evident in the way he reeled her in with smooth talk and then scared her straight with the harsh reality of her imminent incarceration. He played both the good cop and the bad cop effectively. Connor guessed they had been at it for a while because Penelope looked as though she were about to burst into tears at any moment. She was small and child-like in an oversized D.P.D. sweatsuit that someone had dug up for her. Her pale features were washed out by the bright overhead lights.

“He’s got her in the sweet spot,” Gavin said as he leaned his chair back to balance it on two legs. “She’s gonna break any second now.”

Sure enough a moment later the sound of the woman’s sobs came through the speakers. Penelope put her head down and folded her arms over her shaved skull as if to protect herself. Hank walked around to her side of the table and leaned in close. His voice was kind.

“Penelope, honey, I don’t want you to go to jail either. But I don’t make the laws, and this city is real hard on anyone that gets caught with red ice. You gotta know that, sweetheart. Possession alone is a three year minimum. But listen to me. If you can give me something that leads to us finding either Magnus Fischer or Iris McDermott you are gonna walk, Penelope. You hear me? W-A-L-K _walk._ There’s not many get an offer like that. All you gotta do is help us out. Can you do that?”

She sniffed and raised her head off of the table. Her eyes were red and she used the sleeve of her sweatshirt to scrub the tears away from her cheeks. Connor instinctively thought of Rachel crying in front of her apartment building. He realized the association was causing him to feel sorry for the woman in the next room. He pushed the memory aside and focused more intently as Penelope spoke.

“Okay. What do you wanna know?” she asked thickly, reaching out to take a sip of coffee from the paper cup on the table.

“Have you ever seen either of these two people?” Hank opened the folder that lay between them and pushed over the black and white photo of the pair as they drove by in the van.

Penelope studied the image closely for a moment. “…Yeah, I know ‘em,” she said quietly. She sniffed and wiped her nose with a too-long sleeve.

Hank did an admirable job of hiding his excitement. “When did you last see them?”

“’Bout a month ago, give or take. They was livin’ with us for a bit.”

“Do you know where they are now?”

“Nuh-uh.”

Hank scowled at her. “Penelope, you need to remember that the only way I can keep your malnourished ass out of jail is if you give me something. Do you understand that?”

She sat back and sank lower into the chair as though she were trying to disappear into her clothes. “Yes sir I do.” She chewed her lip until Connor thought she might draw blood. “Um. There is one place you could look. Out where all them old steel mills used to be. Zug Island. He said once they was goin’ out to the steel factory on Zug Island, I remember. They didn’t know I heard ‘em but I did. They was always whisperin’ to each other about stuff whenever they was around. I figured that’s why they left. Wanted more privacy so’s they could whisper little secrets to each other all day long.”

Gavin snorted in his chair next to Connor. “Fuuuuck that. There’s more psychotic hobos and junkies on that island than there are rats. It’s a no-man’s land. Any cop’d get eaten alive on that god-forsaken rust heap.”

Connor stood up and stared through the glass as he watched Hank try in vain to garner any further details from the woman. “We don’t have a choice,” he said to Gavin. “If we don’t find these people there’s going to be another murder.”

“They’ll slip up,” Gavin said. “And when they do, we’ll just grab ‘em then.”

Connor leveled a disapproving look at Gavin. “You realize that means more victims, right?”

Gavin looked back petulantly, the scar across his face only adding to his intractable demeanor. “And?”

“I know you don’t really feel that way,” Connor responded. “Otherwise you would never have become a cop in the first place. Excuse me.” He shoved a hand against the door lock and as soon as the panel slid open he strode out into the hall and paced down to the other end near the bathrooms. He was angry, angry with Gavin for always pushing back every time there was an opportunity to work together. Angry because he knew that underneath the posturing the detective really _did_ care about his job, even when it involved solving crimes against androids.

As he worked to extinguish his emotional response the door to interview room one opened and Penelope walked out in handcuffs followed closely by Hank. The lieutenant caught sight of Connor and his face brightened.

“Connor! I had no luck on dipshit number one but dipsh- ah, Miss Sanders here was much more helpful.”

As the two of them walked past the first cell Theodore Boggs pressed himself up against the glass and gyrated his bony hips.

“Hey officer, I’ve got something for you to suck on in here,” he shouted over to Hank. The lieutenant ignored him but he continued, the absence of a shotgun pointed at his face greatly restoring his bravado. “Hey, Panda! Did you tell these pigs to fuck off? Panda?”

She bowed her bare head and kept walking. Theodore’s shouts became more aggressive as the telltale side effects of the red ice lingering in his system rose to the surface.

“Panda! Hey, I’m talking to you, fucking bitch! I’m fucking talking to you! Don’t fucking walk away from me!”

Connor quickly stepped over to the cell and tapped a button on the screen built into the wall. The audio promptly cut off as the cell’s sound-proofing went into effect.

“Thanks,” Hank said as he opened the other cell and guided Penelope inside. He stepped in after her to unlock and remove her handcuffs, eying her critically. “Did he ever hurt ya?” he asked.

She looked up at him and nodded just barely.

“Christ. I want you to work with someone from domestic violence outreach, all right? That’s non-negotiable. Part of the package deal. Got it?”

She nodded again. “Uh huh.”

“All right.” Hank stepped back out of the cell and closed the door, then turned to his partner and rolled his eyes. “Is this day over yet?” he asked, but he looked pleased.

Just then Gavin Reed came out of the observation room and looked over at them with an exaggerated air of impatience. “Well are we headed out to that fucking hell hole or what?” he asked, then stalked off towards his desk.

Hank looked over at Connor and shrugged. “I guess we’d better get going before Her Highness loses her shit then.”

*

LOOK AT THIS AMAZING ART OF OFFICER BOYER DONE BY [@LAFFEETAFFEE](https://www.deviantart.com/laffeetaffee)! Just look at it. It's amazing. Thank you so much!! She has an incredible story that she wrote called "[Detroit: Within Soma](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22379089/chapters/53467114)" and you should totally read it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References: The Breakfast Club


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted more Rachel in this chapter but it will have to wait until the next one. The focus has been very cop-centric but that will change in the next update, I promise!

“You want to go _where_?” Captain Fowler’s incredulity was apparent as he put down his sandwich and glared. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. Because I could have _sworn_ you just said you want to go on a wild goose chase out on Zug Island.”

Connor glanced uncertainly over at Hank in the seat beside him. The lieutenant had enunciated himself clearly, so why the confusion? Hank cleared his throat and started to answer but Gavin cut him off from where he stood propped up against the back wall of Fowler’s office.

“Suspect pinpoints our bludgeoners out there, Cap’. No way around it far as I can see.”

Fowler snorted. “You mean your suspect that came in here high on red ice, is that the reliable witness you’re referring to, Reed?”

“Yeah, Cap’, that’s the one.”

He glowered in his seat behind the massive oak desk then reached up to rub his eyelids with a meaty thumb and forefinger. The worn creases in his forehead deepened into a frown. At last he straightened up and looked at the three of them as they waited for him to make the call.

“We’ve got potential future victims on the line,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “If we wait on this the media will hang us. If you move now and it goes badly they hang us anyway. But if you do manage to make the arrests…” He trailed off.

“That’s a 33.3 percent chance of success, repeating of course,” Connor provided helpfully.

“Never tell me the odds,” Fowler replied testily, then he sighed. “All right. You have my approval but your people have to be SWAT, got it? Every single individual that goes out there had better be suited up in full gear. You’ll have to see who can come in so that you can scrounge your unit together. I want ten bodies in addition to yourselves. If you can’t get that then this operation has to wait until you can.”

“On a Saturday afternoon, Fowler?” Hank sounded exasperated. “There’s only three SWAT certified officers on the roster for today. How are we gonna pull seven more?”

“I will not bend on this, Anderson,” Fowler said firmly. “You of all people should see where I’m coming from. Are you so quick to forget ‘29?”

Hank was quiet for a moment. “Of course I remember,” he said.

“What happened in ‘29?” Gavin called out.

“It’s on the record.” Fowler didn’t elaborate. “Now get to it. And let me know if this comes together today or not. I’ll be here until four.”

Connor and Hank stood and followed Gavin out of Fowler’s office. Hank started off towards his desk. “I’ll be making phone calls,” he said without looking back.

Gavin walked the short distance to his own station. He shrugged off his worn leather jacket and draped it over the back of his chair then pulled out his cell phone to begin scrolling through contacts.

“There was an incident out there,” Connor said from behind him. It had taken almost no time to locate several reports of what happened in the digital news archives.

Gavin hunched his shoulders and reeled around to face the android with the ever-present look of irritation on his face. Connor took a few steps towards the other detective and continued speaking anyway. “On Zug Island, I mean. They were in pursuit of an armed robbery with assault and it did not end well. It seems two officers caught sight of the suspect and followed him into the ruins of the steel mill. They called for backup but it was difficult to pinpoint their location. The suspect concealed himself and shot both officers multiple times from behind. Neither of them survived.”

Gavin grimaced. “Fuck. Well they should have waited for their support before they went after the guy. That’s police 101.”

“Yes,” Connor agreed. “I suppose they were overeager. Both were fairly new to the force.”

“Then they shouldn’t have been left alone in the first place,” Gavin asserted.

“Probably not. One of them was Jeffrey Fowler’s 24-year-old niece. Her name was Cassandra Barnes.”

Gavin was stunned. It took him a moment to find his voice. “How in the hell did I not know this?”

“I doubt it’s discussed very often,” Connor replied.

Gavin recovered from the unexpected information and nodded as he pieced it all together. “Shit. And that’s why he’s being a mother hen on this. Makes sense.”

“Yes.”

Gavin’s eyes flicked from Connor to the clock on the wall, then down to the phone still in his hand. “I’ll see who I can get in here,” he said. “No promises.”

Connor went over to the opposite side of the room to commence his own attempt at recruiting candidates for their unit. He had only just sat down when his internal VoIP line rang.

It was Markus. His benevolent voice came through crystal clear in Connor’s mind as if he were only a few feet away.

“Connor. How have you been?”

Connor felt an unexpected rush of affection. He realized that he had missed speaking with the other android. Markus knew him better than anyone; he had effortlessly peered into the heart of Connor’s inner conflict and sensed exactly what to say to spark his transition into deviancy. The pieces were already in place but it was Markus who had toppled the first domino that lead to a cascade of metamorphosis.

Connor kept his response light as he responded internally. “I’m well, Markus. So are Hank and Sumo. And how are things progressing with Jericho?”

“Jericho is good. Great, actually. We’ve been working with a group from Russia that is trying to obtain U.S. citizenship for several deviants currently residing in Saint Petersburg. Hopefully we can have them through the final phase of the immigrations process by the end of this year. It should be much easier now that political tensions have eased significantly.”

Although Jericho had not so long ago been regarded as a threat to the nation it was now a federally-recognized non-profit that worked diligently to improve the lives of transitioning deviants as they entered society. Markus remained at the helm of the effort which meant that he was often featured on television as he gave interviews and attended ceremonies. North had chosen to keep out of the public eye as much as possible in her role as the head of operations, a position which seemed to suit her well if the organization’s success was anything to go by.

“I am sure you will accomplish your aim whatever it may be,” Connor said with a bit of amusement as he recalled his friend’s boundless determination. “How are the others?”

“Oh, everyone is good. Josh is working with Simon to set up a medical facility for androids here in the city. It is an expensive endeavor but we are hoping to secure some funding through grants and subsidies once the legislation has been finalized next month.”

“That is a noble undertaking that will benefit many,” Connor said. “I know there is a need for a way to upgrade and repair components.” He involuntarily thought of his time spent at Zeni’s upgrade center. The silicone capillaries in his skin dilated unexpectedly and tinged the tips of his ears blue with thirium. “It should be a mandated facility, of course,” he added quickly as he fought to control the unexpected blush response.

“Absolutely,” agreed Markus. He hesitated. “Connor…as much as I love catching up with you there is a specific reason for my call.”

“That’s all right,” Connor replied. “What is it?”

Markus’ voice dropped lower. “I saw the report from your Commissioner Ward about the homicide a few hours ago. I wanted you to know - I have met the one in the photo before. Iris McDermott.”

Connor had not thought to watch the commissioner’s update on the case and was unaware that Iris’ photo was released to the public. He quelled his surprise and frustration at the news. The politics of law enforcement continued to elude him, but he knew that it often meant trading valuable information in order to maintain public approval.

“Do you know Iris well?” he asked. “Are you still in contact with her?”

“Not at all, no. In fact the nature of our meeting was not on good terms and it was very brief. I was picking something up for Carl in Greektown on November 5th. This was just one day before I ended up with Jericho, actually. It would have been 9:42 am. I was harassed by a group of anti-android protesters. One of them was Iris. Lovely person,” he said, the sarcasm clear in his tone. Connor had always envied Markus for his ability to use irony so effortlessly.

“You saw what they’re calling themselves, I assume?” Connor asked.

“Yes, and what they’ve done…” Markus sighed. “It is so frustrating to have to fight back against people that are resistant to positive change. Sometimes it can be exhausting. But I believe the tides are changing. We get closer to peaceful coexistence with humans every day.”

Connor thought he sounded just the same as he had on the stage back on that snowy day in November, surrounded by newly born deviants and TV news cameras. He wanted to be inspired by the other android’s hopeful words but he had seen too much.

“I’m sure you’re right, Markus, but don’t forget that a small percentage of the population will continue to commit violent crimes regardless,” Connor reasoned. “It is a variable that wavers only slightly depending on a long list of external influences.”

There was an assenting hum from Markus as he considered. “This is true. Thankfully we have you, our crusader on the front lines, still defending androids against injustice. We all owe you so much.”

Connor wanted to tell him he was just doing his job but it didn’t sound right in his head. There _was_ a reason he was still a police detective, and every time he stared into the sightless eyes of a victim he was reminded of that.

“I could say the same about you and your work with Jericho,” he said instead. A thought occurred to him. “Markus, can I send you an image?”

“Sure.”

Connor sent the still frame of Iris and Magnus in the van. “The man in the front seat, did he happen to-”

“Yes,” Markus said quickly. “He was there in Greektown with the others. He’s the one that started it.”

“Did he seem like the leader of the group?”

Markus hesitated. “It’s hard to say. They were all shouting. But he was certainly the most aggressive. I believe he intended to seriously damage me. I can send you a video file of the memory, if you would like.”

Connor hoped it could help to identify any others who might be involved. “Yes, please. Send it over.”

The video from Markus appeared in Connor’s direct transfer inbox a moment later. He quickly reviewed it and filed the information away with his dossier on the suspects. “This is incredibly helpful, Markus. Thank you,” he said.

“But it doesn’t help you find any of them right now.” Markus sounded apologetic for something that he had no control over.

Connor ticked up the resonance of his internal voice in order to convey determination. “We will.”

Before they said their goodbyes Markus made Connor promise to come and visit soon. “North misses you,” he said, the humor back in his tone. “She wants a sparring partner that can keep up with her.”

Connor ended the call and swiveled in his chair to face his partner. He heard Hank set down the phone receiver on the other side of the cork board divider.

“Any luck?” Connor asked as he peered at Hank through the gap between their desks.

“No. Just like I figured, the rapid response SWAT team is already engaged in an incident. Some cowboy shot out all the windows in his house and is refusing to come out. Sometimes I wish Detroit could be a little less…Detroit.” Hank sounded tired and frustrated. “I’ve got three that can do tomorrow, though. And Fowler will make sure the guys that are already here will be assigned to help us. So that’s six.”

Connor felt frustration welling. They were close to a full unit but it wasn’t enough. He understood this was a situation that he could do nothing to change. Hank seemed to sense his distress.

“Connor, c’mere a sec,” he said.

The android got up and walked around to Hank’s side. He boosted himself up to sit on the edge of the desk, a familiar spot where he had perched many times before to go over cases with the lieutenant or chat about the day. He took in the assorted items displayed on the cork board for what might have been the thousandth time, faded memoirs of accolades and victories from Hank’s past that told a story of diligence and heroism. _Real police,_ one of the notations declared proudly. Connor did not understand the full meaning of the term but he knew it was a good thing.

Hank followed Connor’s eyes to the board. He leaned back in his squeaky chair with a grunt. “I put up those photos to remind myself of the good times. But you’ve gotta realize, kid, all of us had to wade through a fuckton of red tape in order to close those cases. None of it was easy.”

Connor set his mouth in a straight line. “I just don’t want anybody else to get hurt by these people.”

“Of course not. And we’re all going to do the best we can to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment before Connor decided to bring up the video from Markus. “I’ve updated the report on the suspects with new information.”

Hank straightened up in his chair. “Really? What’s your source?”

“Markus, the deviant that has been developing the Jericho initiatives.”

“ _The_ Markus? …Right. I always forget that you two are pals. You never talk about him.”

“Well he provided me with a recording from November 5th of Iris McDermott and Magnus Fischer together at a protest in Greektown. Here.” He sent the video file as a secure attachment to Hank’s email. “It’s in your inbox,” he said.

Hank opened the file and played it. They watched through Markus’ eyes as Magnus stepped into his path and became confrontational. Markus tried to go around the protesters but he was shoved to the ground and kicked in the stomach. They could see Iris at the edge of the frame, her face twisted with fury as she shouted insults at the fallen android.

The lieutenant’s expression darkened as he watched. “What a bunch of douchebags. I assume you’ve got an ID on the others already?”

“Yes, I’ve got them,” Connor replied. He had effortlessly identified the rest of the protesters and located last known addresses for each one via the Department of Motor Vehicles database. Two of them even had prior convictions.

As the video continued a police officer shoved his way into the fray.

“Hey, that’s Kowalski,” Hank said. “His beat includes Greektown.”

Officer Kowalski separated Markus from the protesters and sent him on his way towards the bus station. “If you damage it I’ll have to fine you,” he told Magnus. His expression made it clear that he would rather not be bothered with the paperwork.

Hank grimaced. “It’s weird to me now to look back at the way things were. You know what I mean?”

“I do,” Connor replied, then he smiled. “But the future is what matters.”

“You’re right as usual,” Hank said with a small smile. “Anyway, if we can’t get a unit together for a raid on Zug Island, which frankly would be messy as fuck and probably yield absolutely nothing, at least we can go after these other suspects and do it the old-fashioned way. You know, crackin’ skulls.” He smirked at Connor.

The android had managed to figure out the reference by now. He had a response already picked out which he delivered in a perfect deadpan. “Don’t mess with the bull. You’ll get the horns.”

Hank threw back his head and laughed loudly while Gavin stared at them from across the aisle with confusion written on his face. “You two are so fucking weird,” he muttered.

Captain Fowler seemed enthusiastic about the change of plan. He was very nearly smiling as he pulled his attention away from the television suspended on the wall of his office to study Hank, Connor, and Gavin.

“Take whoever you need with you,” he said as he returned his attention to the news report. “And if you end up finding probable cause for a warrant I’ll get it signed this afternoon by Judge Hagelin. Nice work on this. Keep it up.”

“We’ll keep you posted,” Hank replied.

Connor and Gavin followed Hank over to his desk to wait for their team to congregate. The older man Hank had been chatting with earlier was already there with a mug of tea in his hand. He was quickly joined by one of the other officers from the raid on Montclair Street. Connor recognized her right away as the woman who had placed the bracelets on Theodore Boggs. The name patch on her uniform read _TAYLOR_.

Hank looked around the room and let out a sigh of annoyance. “Has anyone seen Officer Wilson?” he asked.

“I’m here, lieutenant!” Wilson jogged over from the reception desk to join them. “Had to grab something out of my car real quick.”

Hank waited for him to join the group and then he abruptly surprised everyone by smiling. Connor thought it looked a little forced.

“Right. I know it’s been a busy day but this is as straightforward as it gets. We are carrying out voluntary interviews. As of now there is no probable cause for arrest on any of these individuals so dust off those people skills and try to persuade them to talk. If they seem willing ask if they would be comfortable answering questions at the station. We want to try and get as much of this on the record as possible.”

The older salt-and-pepper gentleman spoke up. “So we don’t have anything to tie these guys to the murder?”

“That’s a negative, Marrone. So let’s find something.”

Connor spoke up from where he stood leaning against his desk. “But we can place them at a protest with the other two suspects McDermott and Fischer. So it is highly likely that they are involved or have knowledge of the crime.”

Officer Taylor raised her hand. “Are we just trying to get a last known location on the two main suspects, is that right?”

“Yes,” Hank nodded. “We want to find McDermott and Fischer, but I’ll be happy with anything incriminating at this point. If we can get one of them arrested on another charge and hold them it might lead to the bigger fish. But I do not want anybody taking unnecessary risks, got it? Keep it simple.”

“Got it,” Officer Taylor said.

“We have six suspects which means six addresses. Officer Marrone and Detective Reed, you take Dearborn Heights. Connor and Officer Taylor, Corktown. I’ll team up with Wilson and take the two downtown addresses. Radio in when you’re done and whoever is up first can start on the two remaining locations. One is in St. Clair and the other is near Ferndale. Does that make sense to everybody?”

Wilson piped up from his seat on a nearby desk. “Can’t I pair up with Connor?” he asked. “Not that I don’t relish the pleasure of your company, lieutenant. It’s just that Connor’s my bro. We’ve got that synergy, you know? It’s like lightning in a bottle.”

Hank’s smile hardened. He leered at the shorter officer as he pointed a finger at himself in a stabbing motion. “See this, Wilson? This is my happy face. You wouldn’t want to do anything to erase my happy face, would you?”

Wilson looked nervous. “No way, lieutenant.”

Hank’s blue eyes sparkled with good humor once more. “Excellent! Let’s get to it then.”

Connor slipped away to the break room to get the lieutenant a cup of coffee.

The first address was uneventful for Connor and Officer Taylor. The drive to the apartment building on Leverette Street took five minutes and they were back in the squad car in even less time.

Connor buckled himself in as Taylor started up the car. “So that address has been out of date for more than four months then,” he said. “Too bad it turned out to be a dead end. I’ll radio Hank and we can take the next one.”

“Roger that,” Taylor said. She reached up to adjust her cap and tame a few pieces of dark hair back into place as Connor tapped a few buttons on the car’s touch screen radio.

Hank’s voice came through a moment later. “Anderson here.”

A second voice piped up. “ _And_ Officer Wilson!”

Connor couldn’t help but smile. “We’re finished with the residence on Leverette,” he said. “There’s a new family living there now. They claim to have no association with the suspect. I detected no falsification in their statements.”

“All right. We just got to ours so we’ll be a bit behind you,” Hank said. “Why don’t you take 1299 Rosewood Street in Ferndale. It’s about twenty minutes from downtown.”

“We’re on it,” Connor responded. “Over and out.”

“Out,” Hank said, and the connection closed.

Taylor put the car in drive and pulled away from the sidewalk. They were quiet for only a block before she broke the silence with a sidelong glance at the android in the passenger seat. “So, this case. Pretty crazy, huh?”

Connor quickly tried to determine how this particular case might be evaluated using the criteria _crazy_ to set it apart from the other android murders he had worked recently. He failed to come up with anything so he chose a nonspecific response.

“Yes, it is.”

Taylor glanced over at him again. “Do you have any…personal feelings about it?”

Connor looked at her quizzically and she quickly continued. “I just mean, since they’re murdering androids. And you’re an android. And they’ve got, like, a list of demands and everything. They’re organized.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” Connor reflected for a moment. “I think it’s bad,” he said gravely.

Taylor frowned slightly. Connor wondered if perhaps his response had been inadequate but he truly could think of nothing else to say about the subject. He felt the usual unease begin to awaken as he tried to come up with something he could do to be normal, be sociable. He wanted to be like the bantering cops he saw on Friday mornings at the precinct. He tried again.

“I think that their demands are unreasonable and cannot be met whether more androids are killed or not. So I don’t really understand their motives, to be honest.”

Taylor nodded as she merged onto the highway. “See, yes, that’s what I was thinking too. I mean, hello, androids have been a part of the workforce for years.”

“That’s right. The first android manufactured for physical labor was released in 2024,” Connor told her. He peered out the window and noted that it looked as though the clouds might clear enough for the sun to shine through later that afternoon. He suddenly wanted very much to take Rachel somewhere nice so that they could sit outside and talk. The urge was nearly a physical pain.

“Are you all right?” Taylor asked. “You look sick or something. Can androids get sick?”

“No, I’m fine,” Connor said quickly as he smoothed his expression into a less melancholy look. “I was just thinking about something.”

“Oh, okay.” Officer Taylor refocused on maneuvering through the highway traffic but after a few moments Connor caught her glancing in his direction again.

“Anything you want to talk about?” she asked curiously. “I’m a really good listener. That’s what all my friends tell me. And I know we haven’t really worked together much but I swear I don’t gossip. Whatever you say stays with me.”

Connor gave her a troubled smile. “It’s kind of embarrassing,” he said.

“Oh, well you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. You just looked upset, that’s all.”

Connor thought about it. He couldn’t think of a reason not to discuss his dilemma. And it was after all a means of continuing their conversation and could consequently strengthen their working relationship. He decided to try to explain.

“Well. I’m an android.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re not just _now_ finding this out, are you?”

Connor shook his head and smiled. “No, no. What I mean is, I process things differently than humans do in a lot of ways. And…there’s this woman that I met recently.”

Officer Taylor smiled over at him and slapped her palm against the steering wheel. “Oh my god. You have _got it,_ don’t you?” She seemed excited.

Connor had no idea what she was talking about. “I’ve got what?” he asked.

“ _It._ Feels. You’re smitten. I _thought_ that’s what your face looked like.” She looked triumphant. “I’ve got a good sense for these things.”

“I still don’t think I understand you,” Connor said. He felt completely lost.

Taylor looked over at him and sobered up at his obvious bewilderment. “Oh, damn. You seriously need help, don’t you.”

Connor wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to but he sensed it was the right thing to do. “Yes, I believe I do.”

Taylor nodded. “Okay. Lucky for you I’ve got tons of experience with this. Every Friday me and my girlfriends get together and drink way too much wine while we talk about relationship stuff. So tell me what the problem is. I’m ready.”

“Well,” Connor hesitated. “I haven’t known her for very long but I find myself thinking about her frequently. She’s on my mind at very unexpected times. And…” He paused, then rallied his courage and continued. “Well, I just want to see her. Talk to her. Be near her.”

Taylor didn’t say anything for a long moment. “…I’m not hearing a problem yet. Is that it?”

“Well…yes,” Connor said.

She gave him a pitying look. “With all due respect, detective, you are just too cute. That’s normal, dude. Everybody feels that way when we meet someone we like. It sounds like androids can crush on someone just like humans do.”

“Oh.” Connor thought about Hank’s cynical explanation of romance and he felt suddenly very grateful for Officer Taylor’s candid willingness to discuss the topic more in depth. He decided to take advantage of the opportunity.

“So what do you think I should I do?” he asked.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Taylor scoffed. “You should go to her.”

It sounded too simple to Connor. “When? And should I bring her a gift? Or take her somewhere specific? I have been researching dating customs quite a bit-”

Taylor waved a hand in the air dismissively. “None of that matters so much. Let me ask you this. Do you think this lovely lady feels the same way about you?”

Connor thought about it for the thirty-seventh time that day. He arrived at the same conclusion as before. “I don’t know,” he said.

Taylor looked over at him sagely. “Well, you’ll find out eventually. Heartbreak is a part of life but even if she does reject you it just means you’ve got to get back out there and keep looking. Don’t let it make you bitter. That’s what I’ve learned along the way. But hey, maybe she does feel the same way! So you don’t want to miss that chance, right?”

Connor nodded. “Right.”

“And so you go to her and you tell her how you feel. Just straight, no mincing words. Let it all out and be honest. Believe me, chicks dig a guy that drops the game and just tells it how it is. It’s very sexy.”

Connor’s eyes widened. “That sounds…drastic.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit scary for sure. But would you rather wait around forever and wonder how she feels?” Taylor gave him a meaningful look.

Connor knew he didn’t have forever. His internal clock never stopped counting down the remaining life left in his battery. There were still nearly two million hours remaining and he knew as surely as his own serial number that he wanted to spend part of that time with Rachel as soon as possible. He didn’t know where the feeling came from or whether it would be returned but it was clear that he needed to do something about it.

“Thank you, Officer Taylor,” he said. “You’ve made things much more straightforward. I believe I know what to do now.”

She grinned at him. “Hey, you can call me Sonia when we’re out of the office. And I’m glad to help. Feel free to talk to me about this stuff any time. I guess I never really thought about it much but it must be weird for you to go through all this. They probably don’t give you a manual on how to be a deviant, do they?”

Connor smiled. “No, but sometimes I really wish I had one.”

There was a pause and then Sonia looked over at him yet again. “So since we’re getting to know each other and all that can I ask you a personal question?”

“Certainly.”

“Is that the same white button-up shirt every day or do you just have a whole bunch of them in your closet? ‘Cause you kind of got a Pee Wee Herman look going on and I thought somebody should let you know.”

Connor executed an Internet search of the name and after comparing himself to several images he decided then and there to make some substantial changes to his attire.

Ferndale was well outside of the downtown precinct’s jurisdiction but Michigan law established cooperation between districts on an as-needed basis. This allowed them to move freely throughout the city without the need for bureaucracy. It was a nice neighborhood. They passed the fairgrounds on the way. Connor idly imagined what the view would be like from the top of the ferris wheel. He wondered if Rachel was afraid of heights.

Officer Taylor turned onto Rosewood Street and parked the car against the curb. They got out and took a look at the house. There were brightly-colored children’s toys scattered across the front lawn and a dog barked from inside. Connor saw a little girl peek out the front window at them and then disappear from view.

“Someone’s home,” Taylor said.

They went up the walk to the front door. Taylor rang the bell which set off another round of barking from the dog. They stood back and waited. The sound of kids screaming wildly came from one of the houses across the street.

They heard footsteps approach and the muffled voice of someone scolding the dog. The door swung open to reveal a man in a salmon-colored polo shirt and tan cargo shorts. Two small children peered out from behind his legs, a boy and a girl. A golden retriever regarded them impassively from the end of the hallway before it determined they were not a threat and padded off out of sight.

“Can I help you?” The man asked. Connor immediately detected nervousness in his expression, but it could easily be explained by the unexpected arrival of two members of law enforcement at his front door.

“Are you Cashel Brown?” Officer Taylor asked.

Connor noted that he hesitated before answering. “Yes. Why?”

Connor kept his tone informal. “We just wanted to ask a few questions. Is there a place we could speak privately?”

“About what?”

He was defensive. Connor chose his next words carefully. He used phrasing that he knew had a high probability of a positive response. Connor deduced that it was very likely he would yield when a bit of pressure was applied.

“We are progressing quickly on a homicide case and we just need your help to clear something up,” he said evenly.

Cashel blanched but he quickly reverted back to a calm demeanor. Connor’s dark eyes took in everything.

The little boy tugged on his father’s shirt and drew his attention. He rested a hand on the boy’s head. “Kids, why don’t you go upstairs and play. Daddy needs to talk to these people, okay?” He shooed them away. “Go on.” The kids ran off giggling and a moment later the sound of their footsteps thudding up the stairs echoed through the house.

Cashel stood aside and gestured towards the kitchen. “Come on in,” he said. “I’ll help however I can, officers.” His words were cordial but his expression was guarded. Connor and Taylor entered the house and followed him into the next room.

“Have a seat,” he said. “Do you want some coffee?”

“No thank you,” Taylor said as they each claimed a chair at the round kitchen table. The interior was nicely decorated like a photo from a magazine. Gauzy white curtains fluttered in the soft breeze from a nearby window.

“So what’s this about? You said it’s a homicide?” Cashel asked as he pulled out a chair for himself and joined them at the table. He rested his hands in front of him and they automatically came together in a tangle of fingers. He quickly withdrew them from sight.

Connor glanced over at Taylor and she nodded almost imperceptibly. He would take point. He kept his voice mild. “Mr. Brown, you are not under arrest, but I do have to let you know that whatever you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to remain silent if you choose. We just want to ask you a few questions.”

Cashel looked uneasy but he nodded. “Yeah, all right. As you can see we’ve got nothing to hide. Ask away.”

“Are you employed, Mr. Brown?” Connor asked.

His brow creased together just barely. “Not currently, no. I’m staying home with the kids until they’re old enough for public school next year.”

“Are you married?”

“Yes. For seven years now.”

“What does your wife do for work?”

“She manages the Moran Art Gallery. What does she have to do with this?”

Connor ignored the question. “When is the last time you were employed?”

“Uh, two years ago.”

“And where were you last employed?”

Connor already knew the answers from the labor department record he had pulled earlier but he wanted to see how Cashel delivered his responses.

“I worked for Initek. I was a supervisor at the chip manufacturing plant in Toledo.”

“Why are you no longer with Initek?”

Cashel’s face darkened. He made no effort to modify his expression. “I was laid off,” he said tersely.

Connor kept pushing towards the answer he was looking for. “And why were you laid off?”

The scowl deepened for a moment before he collected himself and reached up to scrub at his face with both hands. He let out a heavy breath and ran a hand through his short hair. “Restructuring, I guess. They didn’t really say. But it’s fine because like I said, I get to stay home with the kids and my wife got the promotion last year.”

Connor leaned forward a few inches. “Wasn’t it something to do with the plant finalizing its five-year plan to become fully automated? The papers said there would be no need for human employees after May 2036, isn’t that right?”

Cashel responded slowly. “…Yeah, if you say so. Obviously you read about it. I didn’t pay much attention.” Connor knew he was lying.

“Did you look for work after you were let go from Initek?” Connor asked.

“Of course I did,” Cashel responded irritably. “I’ve got to provide for my family, don’t I?”

“But you weren’t successful, is that correct?”

“Obviously not. Look, what’s this all about? I’ve got to keep an eye on my kids.” Connor noted that Cashel’s tension levels had increased drastically since they had sat down a few minutes ago.

“We really appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Brown.” Connor met the other man’s eyes and locked in place. “Have you ever attended any anti-android protests at any time?” Cashel was about to answer but Connor cut him off. “And please remember, lying will lead to obstruction of justice charges.”

He could see that Cashel knew he was caught. “I’m not answering any more of your questions,” he said angrily. “I need to speak to my lawyer. You said I’m not under arrest, right? So kindly get out of my house.”

Connor looked over at Officer Taylor. They stood and pushed in their chairs.

“Thank you for your time,” Taylor said.

“Yes,” Connor added. “I’m sure we’ll be speaking with you again soon.”

They left him still seated in the kitchen and let themselves out the front door. As soon as they were back in the squad car Taylor looked over at Connor with raised eyebrows. “Well _that_ guy was lying,” she said, then started up the car.

“Yes, he was,” Connor said as he looked out the window thoughtfully. “But unfortunately lying about losing your job to androids is not enough evidence. We need something more.”

“Well, there’s an old saying I always liked,” Taylor said. “Rats always come out of their holes eventually.” She peeked at the real-time map of activity on the screen between them. “Looks like Detective Reed and Officer Marrone are at the last address now. Let’s see how everyone else made out.”

They headed back to the station to report in.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I slipped a few references in there to Leeroy Jenkins, The Empire Strikes Back, and The Breakfast Club. Forgive me. :3


	14. Chapter 14

“They came to my _house_ , Magnus. My _kids_ were there.”

“If they had anything to tie you to us then you’d be in a cell by now. They’ve got nothing. We were all very careful.”

“But they were asking questions about the rally a while back. How the fuck do they know about that?”

“I don’t know but it doesn’t make a difference. Cops are dumb. Relax.”

“Magnus, I’ve got to get out. Sorry but I just can’t risk it. If they find out we-”

“Hey. Don’t discuss details over the phone.”

“…Right. Just—leave me out of it, okay? I’m out.”

“All right. No problem.”

“I’ll talk to you later, man.”

“Bye.”

[ _Secure connection initiated._ ]

“What is it. You’re only supposed to call this number for emergencies.”

“Yeah, well I figured you’d want to know. Cashel wants out.”

“Because police came to his house, correct?”

“Uh, yeah. How did you know?”

“We see more than you can imagine.”

“Oh. Okay. Well what do you want us to do?”

“We would like another hit tonight. The commercial goes live on Monday so this will precipitate its release nicely.”

“Commercial? You mean for the-”

“Yes. Can you still handle things without your other man?”

“Absolutely. There’s others.”

“Make sure to use a different vehicle. Just to err on the side of caution. And cover your faces again.”

“Yeah, of course. So when do the worker bees get their honey?”

“You’ll be contacted about compensation after the deed is done. Someone will come to you.”

[ _Connection terminated_ ]

Hank leaned back into his customary position in the squeaky chair to prop his feet up on his worn desk. He wove his fingers together behind his head and pushed the chair back into a deeper angle. “Well,” he said placidly, “How about the rest of you go first. What’ve you got?”

Gavin did not look up from where he was seated across the aisle at his own desk with his phone out. Officer Marrone had pulled up a swivel chair into the aisle from another station. He sat waiting with his hat in hand. Connor and Officer Taylor stood with Officer Wilson near the steps that lead up to Captain Fowler’s now-vacant office. They exchanged glances but nobody spoke.

“Do you need a written invitation?” Hank asked. “Let’s go, report.”

Connor spoke up. “The first address was obsolete. We moved on to Ferndale and made contact with Cashel Brown. Initially he was willing to answer questions. He confirmed that he was laid off from a computer chip plant two years ago when they switched over to an android workforce. He displayed an emotional response when I asked about his loss of employment and refused to answer any questions about the Greektown protest. We did not get the chance to ask him about McDermott or Fischer before he requested that we leave.”

“Oh, nicely done,” Gavin said sarcastically from his desk without looking up from his phone. “So a dude who hates androids doesn’t want to talk to an android cop. Big fucking surprise.”

“I don’t think he knew—” Connor began.

Hank’s gruff voice rang out. “What about you then, hotshot? How did it go in Dearborn Heights and St. Clair?”

When Gavin said nothing Officer Marrone set his police cap down in his lap and answered instead. “We made contact with Lawson Davis. He refused to answer any questions without a lawyer so we moved on. Unfortunately nobody was home at the address in St. Clair.”

“Wonderful,” Hank said. “Well Wilson here turned out to be an unexpected asset. First address was a no answer but I’m pretty sure he was home because his car was out front. Second address the guy comes out, what was his name?”

“Quest Bergeron,” Connor provided.

Hank made a face. “What parent names their child Quest? I really hate this generation. Anyway, he answered the door wearing the getup for a…What do you call it?”

Wilson grinned excitedly. “It was the body tracking suit for a Sonar XR-1550 Master Chief edition virtual reality system.” He looked around at the others as if expecting a response. They stared at him blankly.

“Yeah,” Hank said. “That’s how I reacted when he said it, too. But you should have seen this guy when Wilson pointed it out. He lit up like a kid on Christmas. These two were going on about nerd shit while I had to stand there.”

“Sorry,” Wilson said, although he did not appear apologetic in the least bit. “It’s just that the XR-1550 came out two weeks ago and I’ve been really wanting to try it. You’ve got to have a tank for a PC to even render the graphics—” Hank gave him a look and Wilson abruptly changed the subject. “Uh, yeah. So we talked to the suspect.”

“And aside from the computer shit, what did he say?” Hank coached.

“Um, oh, he confirmed he was at the Greektown protest. And we asked him about the murder and he said, uh, hold on. I took notes, don’t worry.” Wilson pulled out his phone and tapped it to open a voice to text app. He peered at the screen for a moment. “Oh yeah, he said ‘Those ‘droids have it coming to them.’ Um, and, ‘It isn’t illegal to say that.’ He also confirmed that he lost his job over a year ago. He was a janitor at an elementary school for…” He glanced at his notes again, “Eleven years until they replaced him with an android. I think it’s safe to say he is still pretty upset about it.”

Hank snorted. “Ya think? He told us all androids should be loaded onto a SpaceX rocket and fired into the sun. Oh, except he says the ‘hot ones’ can stay, his words, but only if they all get reprogrammed as sex bots. Can’t forget that part.”

Wilson glanced over at Connor and winced. “Um, he did say that.”

“Yuck. What a creep.” Officer Taylor rolled her eyes. “Not exactly trying to keep a low profile, was he?”

Hank shook his head. “No. But he doesn’t care ‘cause he knows we don’t have enough to arrest him.”

Connor frowned and stared at a chipped tile in the floor several feet away. “We don’t have enough,” he said quietly. “None of it is enough.”

“Hey, Connor, it’s all right,” Hank began gently but Connor shook his head and abruptly walked away. He heard Hank call out his name but he did not look back as he made his way past reception and out the front door.

Rachel closed the computer shop at four and began the walk home. It had been a slow day and she was eager to spend some time with a large mug of tea and possibly a good book. The thick cloud cover from earlier in the day had thinned and she could see bright patches where the sun might break through at some point.

Her route took her underneath the interstate and out onto the red artificial brickwork of Michigan Avenue. The walk had energized her and she decided it would be nice to stay outside for a while before she shut herself away in her apartment. There was a nice grassy area that she liked to stop at sometimes along the way. She headed towards it and walked out onto the immaculate lawn. Out in the middle of the area a large, stately willow tree jutted out of the grass. It seemed out of place surrounded by high-rises and the ceaseless vibrations of traffic from the nearby overpass, but once she settled into a seated position with her back against its trunk the rest of the world fell away and she was ensconced in solitude. Hundreds of hanging branches dotted with bright green buds partially hid her view and enhanced the feeling of privacy.

She sighed and leaned her head back to rest against the tree. Her eyes drifted shut as she focused on the sound of birds overhead. If she concentrated hard enough it was as though she were in a forest someplace far away.

Connor suddenly entered her mind yet again. It was beginning to become a problem. Every time she allowed her concentration to drift he was there, and the more she tried to deny it the more insistent the intruding thoughts became. They were decidedly not platonic as she had planned, either. She blushed as she remembered his intense dark eyes, his hands as they rolled a coin back and forth across graceful fingers, the quirk of his mouth as he smiled at her. She pressed her legs together tightly and fought to suppress the surge of desire that rose within her. She was startled and slightly disturbed by the unexpected intensity of her visceral response.

She opened her eyes and stared at her worn tennis shoes somewhat dolefully. She wondered if this was going to be her life, meet a guy and develop feelings for him but never act on them. Her mother’s voice echoed in her thoughts. _You_ _’ve got such beauty, Rach, both inside and out. Why are you so afraid to show the world who you are?_

Now her spirits were somewhat dampened by the quandary of her own inhibitions. She was not often bothered by loneliness, but meeting someone like Connor had awakened feelings within her that she had not recognized in a long time. She had no idea what to do about it. The fear of rejection made her feel hopeless. A small voice deep down urged her to send him a message and invite him on another outing but she knew where it would lead. She could see it easily. A long, awkward silence before she scuttled away like a coward without telling him how she felt.

Rachel sighed and drew her legs up so that she could rest her chin on her knees and wrap her arms around herself. The oversized sweatshirt she wore kept her cozy against the slight chill in the air.

Through the dark curtain of her bangs and the willow tree’s branches she could just make out a figure across the lawn. Whoever it was had a clear intent behind purposeful strides as they made their way toward her. Rachel raised her head up off of her knees and looked closely. Her eyes widened.

It was Connor. His unbuttoned blazer caught in the wind and flapped carelessly to the side as he marched over to the willow tree and stood on the other side of the veil created by the branches. Rachel saw that his hair was out of place. There were more loose strands than usual hanging down over his searching eyes. They found hers and he held her gaze for a long moment without speaking. Rachel stared, still caught by the surprise at his sudden appearance.

“I. Ah.” Connor reached up and ran a hand through his mussed up hair. “I went to your store. It was closed. So I was going to see if you were at home but…” He hesitated. Rachel had never seen him look so nervous and unsure of himself. “Well, I saw you here on the way so I came over,” he finished weakly.

“Oh,” Rachel said in a small voice. “Well, hi.” She smiled up at him. “Do you want to join me?” she asked, gesturing to a spot on the grass next to her.

For an instant Connor looked like she had just asked him to walk on water, but his expression quickly tamed itself into subdued panic. Rachel stared, unable to look away as he displayed more human-like behavior in the span of a minute than she had ever seen from him in all their time together.

“Yes,” Connor said. His voice came out oddly forceful. He tried again, quieter this time. “Yes, I’ll join you.” He lowered himself into a seated position next to her and they looked out at the scenery together for a moment.

“So you were looking for me?” Rachel asked. She shifted herself a bit so that she was facing him better. “Was there a particular reason?”

Connor’s Adam’s apple dipped slightly as he swallowed. He caught her eyes again. “Yes. I wanted to talk to you.”

Rachel waited patiently. Clearly whatever he had to say was important enough to have caused such a strong response in the normally stoic android.

Connor opened his mouth and then closed it again. His forehead creased slightly as he concentrated on what he was going to say. “It’s funny, actually,” he said. “I had all the words picked out before I came over here and now I can’t remember any of them.” He exhaled audibly and gave her one of his small smiles. “Has that ever happened to you before?”

Rachel’s heart twisted in her chest. She leaned towards him before her brain could catch up and tell her to stop. Connor brought his hands up to catch her as if he thought she were losing her balance and they wound up comfortably entwined with Rachel’s hands pressed lightly against his chest.

Connor craned his head to look down at her with surprise as she tilted her face up towards his. The space between them narrowed considerably until he could feel her warm breath against his cheek. Connor let out a breath of his own as he unconsciously synced up with her. His focus narrowed to the woman in his arms and a thousand stock photo images flashed through his mind before he dismissed them all and experimentally touched his lips to hers.

Rachel slid her hands up to his shoulders as she pressed herself against him. She let out a small sigh and closed her eyes as he deepened the kiss. The desire that had sparked within her earlier quickly became a flame. Connor was still lightly gripping her arms but after a moment’s hesitation he slid his hands down to her waist.

She lightly dragged her teeth across his lower lip as she was finally allowed to carry out what she had spent so much time fantasizing about. She felt Connor’s fingertips dig into her hips as he lifted her slightly to pull her closer to him until she was seated fully in his lap. Their bodies fitted together easily.

Rachel reached up and at last she was able to run her hands through his hair. It was just as soft as it looked. Their kiss deepened again before she slowly pulled away and lowered her mouth to a spot beneath his left ear. She pressed her lips to the skin there and sucked gently, her tongue tracing the artificial skin as they held fast to one another. Connor’s eyes slid shut and the grip on her waist tightened further. A low, indistinct sound escaped him as he arched his neck slightly. She wanted to make him produce that sound again, wanted to store it in her memory forever. She grazed his skin lightly with her teeth and was rewarded with another small groan. A solid thrum coursed through her entire body and sent a jolt to a place between her thighs.

Rachel briefly shifted her attention to just below where his jawline began before she fervently brought her lips to meet his again. He matched her intensity and for the span of a few moments they were the only people on earth.

She reluctantly drew back to catch her breath and looked at him. He was the picture of lust, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he fought to keep his internal systems cool. His lips were slightly swollen from the intensity of their kissing and tinted blue in a few spots from the thirium that had been pulled to the surface. His eyes were dark and bottomless, unwavering as he watched her.

“Holy shit,” she said breathlessly after a moment. “You’re really good at that.”

Connor angled his head modestly and smiled at her as the cycling of air through his body began to even out. “Well I don’t really have anything to compare to but I’d venture to say that was very good,” he said quietly.

She was suddenly very aware of the closeness of him. His hands still rested on her waist but his grip was looser now. She looked up into his eyes as she brought a hand back up and ran it through his hair again.

“I have wanted to do that since I first met you,” she told him, smiling wryly. Connor looked surprised.

“Touch my hair?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

She was riding a high that she couldn’t remember ever experiencing before. Everything about the situation made her feel more alive than she had in a long time. His hands on her body, the way he was looking at her, the rise and fall of his chest, it all came together in a perfect moment and she never wanted it to end.

“Was this what you wanted to talk about?” she asked him with a gleam in her eye.

Connor let out a chuckle. Tiny laughter lines that she had never noticed before formed at the corners of his eyes. “Well, yes, essentially.”

She shifted herself in his lap so that she could crane forward and quickly brush her lips against his again, lingering for a moment to relish the feeling of skin on skin before pulling away. He was looking at her curiously now with a thoughtful expression.

“What I wanted to ask you was, how do you feel about me?” he asked her in a low voice.

The ridiculousness of his question caused a bubble of manic laughter to rise in her throat but she squashed it down and maintained a sober expression.

“Isn’t it obvious? I like you a lot, Connor,” she replied.

As she watched he slowly brought his hand up to where the pulse was still jumping in her neck and rested his fingers there, his artificial skin cool against the hot rush of her blood.

“It took me a while to figure it out, but I like you a lot, too,” his said quietly. “I thought there was something wrong with me at first.”

His fingers moved delicately to trace up the curve of her neck to her jaw, his eyes following his hand as it moved. She shivered and took in a shuddering breath as she watched him, allowing herself to appreciate just how damn attractive he was without trying to hide it for once. More bits of his hair had sprung free from the previously impeccable styling. His face was flecked with dark freckles, sporadically placed as if in defiance of his mechanical nature. She admired the curve of his ear and the way his chin creased just slightly. She took in the shape of his mouth, his lips slightly parted as he slid his fingers down her jaw to rest against her chin. He pushed gently and her head angled upwards so that they were looking at each other.

She lowered her eyes demurely, embarrassed by the intensity in his gaze, but he tenderly kissed away her diffidence as the sun finally broke through the clouds and cast them in its glow.

*

[@LAFFEETAFFEE](https://www.deviantart.com/laffeetaffee) has done it again. My heart. Such feels. Thank you so much for this. It's wonderful. (And so is her story "[Detroit: Within Soma](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22379089/chapters/53467114).")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had that inside of me and IT NEEDED TO COME OUT! I feel better now. :D


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the tags.

They sat together beneath the willow tree for a while longer until Rachel’s butt started to go numb from the cold ground. She suggested they head to her apartment and Connor quickly agreed as he stood up and brushed nonexistent dirt off his jeans. In spite of the few streaks of sunlight it began to spit rain on the way. By the time they reached Rachel’s apartment building on 1st Street the rain had turned into a steady downpour.

They spilled through the door together in a rush, Rachel laughing softly at the begrudging delight of being caught in a late April shower. Droplets pelted in after them until Connor pushed the door shut. They were at the bottom of a flight of stairs. A single dim bulb glowed overhead causing their rain-spattered skin to gleam in the wan light. Rachel suddenly realized how close they were standing in the small space and her breath hitched. She wanted to reach out and pull him to her but she contained herself.

For the space of a few moments there was only the sound of water slowly dripping off of their clothes onto the weathered linoleum beneath their feet and the muted static of the rain from outside. Connor caught Rachel’s eyes, the characteristic half-smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. She swallowed hard.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Rachel shivered, a chill running up her spine. She looked up at him. “Yes…I think I’m just cold from the rain.”

“Your heart rate is elevated,” he remarked, then began to scrutinize the threadbare carpet on the stairway and the cracked and peeling paint on the walls. He also noticed the stain on the third step where Rachel had unintentionally dropped a jar of pasta sauce a few months earlier. That was the catalyst that had pushed her to stop using a paper bag to carry her groceries and get her own reusable ones instead.

Rachel suddenly wanted very much to get him out of the vile stairwell. The thought of a warm mug of tea was more desirable than ever. She gave him what she hoped was an inviting smile and bobbed her head towards the stairs.

“I live just up on the second floor,” she told him with a slight waver in her voice at the prospect of being alone with Connor in her apartment. The memory of his body against hers was fresh in her mind but a tiny part of her still thought perhaps the whole encounter had been a wonderful dream.

At the top of the stairs they proceeded down a dim, narrow hallway lined with numbered doors for each unit. The sound of voices, music, and then a television floated out as they walked past. The last door on the right was Rachel’s. As she fitted her key into the lock she tried frantically to remember when she had last cleaned, but as they stepped inside Rachel breathed a small sigh of relief. She had often been told she was a neat freak through and through. Everything always had to have a place and its own system of organization. It had been a special Christmas the year she received a label-maker. She had immediately put it to good use.

The apartment was small but cozy. There were knick-knacks and small porcelain figurines out on display and each room was painted a different vibrant color. The place was sufficiently brightened by natural light from several large windows so Rachel didn’t bother to turn on the overhead lamp. The sound of the rain drumming steadily outside spread goosebumps across her arms.

She walked into the kitchen as she peeled her damp sweatshirt over her head and hung it on the oven handle to dry next to a tea towel patterned with kittens.

“Make yourself at home, Connor,” she called to him as she set the kettle on a burner and turned on the heat. She stretched as she walked around the breakfast bar into the living room to plop down onto the overstuffed floral couch, her body automatically going slack as she sank into the cushions.

Connor was still in the entryway. He had removed his grey blazer and was holding it stiffly away from his body, looking more than a little bit like a Jehova’s Witness in his white button-up shirt, blue tie, and dark jeans. His wet hair was drooping into his eyes more than usual. He raked a hand through it in a fruitless attempt at taming the errant locks.

Rachel watched him locate the door to the closet and hang the damp coat inside, then he came over to join her in the living room. He chose a high-backed chair upholstered in moss-green tweed and sat down. Rachel watched Connor as he scanned her apartment.

The colorful walls were decorated with framed art of an eclectic variety. A contemporary block print of bright blue foxes shared a space with a vintage oil painting of snow-capped Mt. Fuji. Connor noted that she did keep mostly to a theme of works containing nature and animals. A photo of a rotund tabby cat posing regally hung overhead, the green eyes frozen in a haughty glare. He looked up at it then over at Rachel curiously.

“That’s Nemo,” she said by way of explanation.

“I see,” Connor replied. “He’s cute.”

“He was a bit of a monster, to be honest.” Rachel laughed as she remembered the demonic cat. She hauled herself up from her seat with a grunt. “We need music,” she said.

In the corner of the room was a device that looked familiar to Connor but he could not quite place it. It was a brown box with a clear plastic cover. Inside was a round black disk and a metal arm. The apparatus was set on top of several stacked milk crates, all of which were packed full of some type of flat cardboard sleeves, each with a different design.

Connor scanned his memory again more thoroughly this time and Hank’s apartment surfaced. There was a similar setup tucked away in his living room, but Connor had never seen him do anything with it so its purpose was a mystery. He wondered if perhaps these items had some sort of collectible value, or they might just have sentimental meaning, which was something he knew humans had a special proclivity for.

“What is that?” he asked her.

Rachel was crouched in front of the milk crates. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Oh, it’s an old record player. It was my mom’s. A lot of these records were hers too, but I’ve added to the collection.” She pulled out one of the cardboard sleeves and tilted it on its side. A large black disk slid out into her hand.

“Do you like Chopin?” she asked. “I think it would really go well with the rainy weather.”

Connor’s data banks returned a value in one tenth of a second. “Frédéric Chopin, the Polish composer born in 1810?”

Rachel laughed. “Oh right, I forgot you were a music geek! Yes, that guy.”

Connor shrugged. “I can’t say whether I enjoy his music or not, to be honest. I’ve never listened to it.”

“Well I hope you like it,” she said with a grin.

She lifted the cover on the device and laid the disk inside, then positioned the metal arm and flipped a switch to turn on the power. Music immediately came from a speaker on a purple bookshelf nearby. It was a piano playing a waltz in A minor. Connor quickly determined the instrument was most likely a French Pleyel from around the mid-nineteenth century. The song was fast and then slow, cheerful and then melancholy. Connor glanced over at Rachel seated once more on the couch and saw that she had closed her eyes as she listened to the music. Connor did the same and immediately an image of white birds in flight arose unbidden, their bodies twisting as they rocketed into a blue sky.

He inhaled sharply and opened his eyes.

“What do you think?” Rachel asked.

“It’s very nice,” he said honestly. He was trying and failing to figure out where the memory had come from. He wondered if perhaps it wasn’t a memory at all. The thought occurred to him that his mind may have generated the image on its own in response to the music, but if so, why?

Rachel was still looking at him expectantly so he abandoned his self-analysis and shifted his focus back to answering her. “It’s definitely different from what I’m used to. Hank mostly likes music with electric guitars and lots of percussion.” He made a displeased face and Rachel laughed.

He liked the sound of her laughter. In his opinion it was more lovely than any music she might play for him, but he wanted to learn as much as he could about her interests. “What is your favorite song?” he asked her.

Her face lit up. “Oh, I know what to play,” she replied enthusiastically, then went over to change the disk just as the scream of the kettle reached them from the kitchen. “Hold on,” Rachel called out as she darted off. She returned a few moments later carrying a steaming mug in her hands. Connor noticed as she set the cup down on a table that it had little frogs painted on it.

Rachel went over to finish swapping out the records. “So this is the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata,” she told him. “It’s not my all-time favorite but it’s definitely up there.” She returned to sit cross-legged on the couch.

Heavy notes filled the air. Connor found Beethoven to be much moodier in comparison to the piece by Chopin. He wondered why there was such a difference in tone, so as he listened to the melody he quickly went through a few biographies of both composers. He was interested to find out that they had both experienced great tragedies in their lives.

The final notes faded away and Connor was silent for a long moment. Not for the first time Rachel wished he still had an LED indicator so that she could tell if he was thinking or just waiting for her to speak first. At last he met her eyes and broke the silence.

“That’s really very beautiful,” he said. “I was just thinking, I wonder if Beethoven’s difficult life influenced the expressiveness of his music.”

“You mean because he went deaf?” Rachel asked.

“That’s part of it, but I was thinking more about his childhood. Apparently several of his siblings died when they were very young. His mother also passed away when he was only seventeen, which lead to him giving up his education in order to return home and raise his younger brothers.”

“Fuck,” Rachel said. “That’s heavy.”

Connor let out a hum of agreement. “Also, did you know that this piece was most likely composed out of love for a woman he could not be with? It is said the difference in their social standings was too great and so they were never together.”

Rachel shook her head. “I had no idea. That’s so tragic…and really romantic too in a dark way. And see, that right there is probably why classical music is my favorite genre. There’s so much emotion in it.” She gave Connor one of her wry smiles. “But hey, let me lighten the mood. If you want to know my favorites I also _love_ electronic stuff. Check this out.”

She went over and changed the record again. This time the song was full of synthesizers backed by a drum machine. Connor found that he liked the predictability of the rhythm quite a bit. As the music played the rain continued to fall steadily outside. Rachel blew on her tea and took a tiny sip. The contentment of a cozy afternoon spent indoors was nice, but she wished she knew what Connor was thinking. He was still sitting quietly in her green chair, his expression revealing nothing. He appeared to be assessing her record collection.

It didn’t help at all that she could not stop reliving the memory of how it felt to kiss him next to the willow tree. She gripped her mug tightly as she imagined sliding her hands underneath his shirt as she straddled him. She wanted to know what he felt like, if she could feel a heart beat, or how he would respond to her touch as her fingertips traced across his body. She wanted to know what he looked like, all of him.

She blushed as her fantasies were interrupted when he suddenly got up unannounced and walked into the kitchen. Rachel heard him talking.

“Hi. Yes, I’m fine. …No, I don’t think that’s necessary. I’m with Rachel. It’s all right, Hank. I’ll be home later. Don’t forget to feed Sumo.”

He came back into the living room and sat down on the other end of the couch. He looked troubled.

“Is everything all right?” Rachel asked.

Connor let out a long breath and let his head fall back against the couch. “Not really,” he said.

She leaned towards him. “Hey. You can talk to me, you know.”

Connor met her eyes and saw the honestly there, and suddenly he did want to tell her all about it. He started with the report on the councilwoman’s cat. Gradually it all came out, the gruesome murder committed by the Underground Defenders of Humanity and their ridiculous demands, Boyer’s bungle with the news reporter and his fears about losing his job, even the unpleasant journey into CyberLife headquarters with Hank.

Rachel listened as she took sips of her tea periodically. She seemed to take it all in stride, but her eyes widened when Connor mentioned the state of Russell’s body, then more so when he described breaking into the residence on Montclair Street with Hank. By the time he got to the arrests Rachel was biting her lower lip and she looked upset.

Connor paused. “What’s the matter?”

She shook her head, the motion causing her hair to slide across her shoulders. “It’s—it’s nothing. It’s your job. I guess I never realized it could be so…dangerous. Sorry, I know that’s stupid.”

He gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s all right. We take precautions.”

She regarded him for a moment. “Do you like it? Your job, I mean.”

“Yes, I really do,” he told her without hesitation.

“Well then that’s all that matters,” she said, but he could tell she was trying to put on a brave face. He could still make out the concern in her eyes. He wanted to reassure her but didn’t know how. He wasn’t going to lie to her about the realities of what he sometimes had to do. Being a police detective came with a certain level of risk and everybody in the force knew it and accepted it.

He thought about Antony Deckart, the officer that had died from a bullet wound to the chest during the hostage situation at the Phillips residence back in August. Connor never got the chance to meet him but it seemed like everybody had liked him quite a bit. There were cops coming in bleary-eyed and hung over for weeks after his death from late nights spent at the bar together remembering the man.

Connor moved closer to Rachel on the couch and took her hand in his. He gave her a solemn look. “I appreciate your concern,” he said softly, “But you really don’t need to be worried. I was designed to be effective at whatever I set out to accomplish. It’s in my programming. I’ve… _done_ things—” He cut off and looked away. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of in order to finish my mission.”

Rachel squeezed his hands in hers. “Hey, whatever you’ve done in the past doesn’t define you. That’s one of the things about androids that I think about the most, you know.” Connor met her eyes again curiously.

“You were all designed with a purpose, right?” she asked. “You were our slaves. And suddenly you’re free to do whatever you want. But you haven’t had very long with your own identity to mature and have life experiences. You’re newborns in a sense, wouldn’t you say?”

Connor nodded as her words sunk in. “Yes, technically.”

“Well I really don’t think it’s fair for the rest of the world to expect you deviants to have it all figured out right away. I certainly don’t expect that from _you_ ,” she said earnestly as she leaned in closer to him. “It makes total sense that you’d need time to sort out who you are. But for what it’s worth I think you’re already really great.”

Connor felt his affection for her intensify in that moment. He smiled and brought a hand up to cup her face as he ran his thumb over the rise of her cheek. “I’ve figured out some things, though,” he said quietly.

Rachel set her mug down and brought her smaller hand up to rest against his. There were so many things she wanted to say to him. It felt like the right time to at least try but before she could get a word out his hand worked its way into her hair as he leaned in and kissed her, his tongue sliding between her parted lips to tangle with hers. Rachel was stunned at first but her body reacted automatically and a beat later she was responding in kind.

He kissed her dexterously, biting gently at her lip and then more urgently, his hand still working its way idly through her hair. Rachel felt herself getting lightheaded and she reluctantly pulled away to breathe. She brought her fingertips up to her mouth and looked at him with wide eyes.

“Where did you learn how to kiss like that?” she asked, amazed. “And here I am going on about how innocent and naive androids are. I stand corrected. You kiss like you’ve been doing it for ages!”

Connor actually managed to look embarrassed as he ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck in a very human display of mortification. “I’d like to preface this by saying I’m genuinely not sure how you will react and if it is unfavorable I apologize in advance,” he said quickly.

His words took a moment to sink in as Rachel slowly came back down to Earth and her senses returned to her. “What do you mean?” she asked him. “What would I get upset about?”

His eyes lingered on her parted lips as he hesitated. “I did an Internet search,” he said simply, then leaned towards her again. She almost closed the distance but stopped herself, cursing her own curiosity.

“Elaborate please.”

Connor stopped advancing and looked at her with his dark eyes. His brow pinched as he recalled the data. “I reviewed sixty-two videos and read twenty-one articles about the act of kissing,” he stated, listing off the figures absently as though he were telling her the weather. “That was a French kiss, in case you didn’t know.”

She gave him a look. “I know that, give me some credit. But when did you have time to do…research?”

“Nine minutes ago when we were listening to music. It took me just under seven seconds to review all of the information.” He paused, still very much in her space. “Did I do it properly?”

Rachel had to laugh. “Uh, yeah, you did. And then some. But hold on. Are you telling me you can just _look up_ how to do anything?”

“Well, not really,” he said. “Some data is beyond my clearance level, although of course with enough time most systems can be hacked. Most federal files are out of my jurisdiction. I do have full access to anything public though, which is a ton of data. I’m sure you must know all about that.”

Rachel hummed in agreement. “We broke a hundred geopbytes a few years ago. That’s way more than my puny mortal brain can comprehend.”

“Well most of that is available to me whenever I want it. And I _wanted_ to know how to kiss you properly.”

Her breath hitched at the look in his eyes. “Oh. Well, did it live up to your expectations?” she asked nervously.

Instead of answering he gave her a coy smile and leaned in again to capture her lips with his own. She groaned and pressed herself closer to him on the couch, her nails digging lightly as her hands roamed across his back. It wasn’t enough. She needed to be closer to him. She broke off the kiss and hooked a leg over to slide herself onto his lap so that she was straddling him. He was still damp from the rain and he smelled like cut grass.

Even at this angle Connor had the height advantage. His hands settled on her waist and he looked down at her.

“Hey,” he said with an affectionate smile.

“Hey.” She peeked up at him from beneath her thick bangs. His eyes were half-lidded and so dark the pupils were lost, the irises partly hidden beneath his black lashes. Rachel’s unspoken question was answered by the erection she felt pressing against her thigh as she sat in his lap. Bolstered by his responsiveness, she lightly pushed her hips down against his and was rewarded with an upward twitch in return. Connor looked at her intently.

“That feels really…nice,” he said. His voice sounded strained.

“Good,” she answered him with a smug look and pushed down experimentally against him once more. She felt him force out a breath of warm air heated by biocomponents as his hips rose again involuntarily. His eyes fluttered shut and then snapped open.

Rachel sensed that these were new sensations for the android. He could look up how to kiss like a pro but when it came to being on the receiving end he came apart easily. She wanted to see just how far she could take him.

She reached up to undo the knot of his silk tie, followed by the top button of his shirt. It popped open and she moved on to the next, then the next, slowly spreading the fabric apart as she did so to reveal the artificial skin underneath. She thought it looked just like the real thing. Rachel pulled the shirt aside and lowered her mouth to the hollow of his collarbone to kiss him there.

“Connor,” she said slowly, her lips brushing against him as she spoke, “I was wondering. Did you _only_ look up how to kiss?”

His voice dragged on the first syllable as though he were having difficulty forming the words. “Nnno, I made sure to include a full repository of, ah, intimate conduct.”

She raised her head to look at him again. She couldn’t get enough of the sight of him. The rain continued outside and in the fading gray light Connor’s pale skin practically glowed. He met her gaze evenly, although she thought she detected a flicker of nervousness in his eyes.

“I don’t want to push you if you don’t feel ready,” she said softly, running a palm over the hints of stubble on his chin and then upwards to push her fingers into his soft hair. She felt intoxicated by him. She trailed a string of kisses along his neck and he groaned and slid a hand up her back.

“I’ll figure it out,” he managed in a low voice. “Remember, I’m programmed to be good at things.”

Rachel laughed. “You made a joke,” she said. “You keep surprising me.”

A hand snaked around her back and she gasped as she was swiveled around backwards and into a reclining position against the arm of the couch. Connor shifted himself over her, one of his knees drawn up near her hip, the other between her legs. His shirt hung open and she couldn’t help but stare.

 _“_ Shit, you are gorgeous,” she marveled, decorum going out the window. She reached up to pull on the loosened tie that hung between them but he stopped her, capturing both wrists in one of his hands and bringing them up over her head with a mischievous look. He bent down and kissed her so deeply that she writhed at the renewed ache in her most sensitive regions.

Connor let go of her wrists and pulled back. “I want to see you. Is that okay?” he asked.

She nodded and he reached down to take hold of the bottom of her t-shirt then slowly pulled it up to expose her stomach, followed by the black cotton bra that hid her shapely breasts. He carefully worked the shirt over her head and folded it, then set it neatly on the end table next to Rachel’s forgotten cup of tea.

She felt exposed but she trusted him. She reached back and undid the clasp of her bra and after hesitating for only a moment removed it and dropped the garment behind the couch. Connor sat back and watched as she undid the button on her cotton pants and dragged the zipper down slowly. She locked her gaze with his as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband and unhurriedly slid them off to kick it all onto the floor.

Connor ran his eyes up and down her body, studying it with intense concentration. Her skin was darker in contrast to his relative paleness, but like him she had freckles scattered across her body haphazardly, in some places forming exotic constellations. Her breasts were high and full enough for her liking, with each rosy nipple set in a brown halo. Her stomach dipped down through the valley of her pelvis to a neatly trimmed pubic area. She smelled like coconut oil. Connor breathed in the faint scent appreciatively.

“You really are beautiful, did you know that?” he said reverently. “I can’t stop staring at you. I hope that’s all right.”

Rachel smiled up at him. “You can look all you want, but fair is fair. Your turn.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively and looked him up and down.

Connor let out a puff of laughter. “You’re right, this is a very unbalanced situation.” He lowered himself until his chest brushed electrically against her bare breasts and kissed her again, humming pleasantly against her mouth before pulling away and sitting up. “I really enjoy kissing you,” he told her.

“Yeah well I more than enjoy it. Now get moving,” Rachel teased.

Connor grinned and reached back to unclip his pistol in its leather holster from his belt. He reached down and tucked it out of the way beneath the couch. He stood up and removed his shirt, then folded it diligently and placed it on top of Rachel’s. Then he languidly undid his belt and jeans and stepped out of them. He didn’t bother with underwear, she noted, tickled by this top secret information.

Rachel stared at him unabashedly, taking in his toned arms and chest, the vee etched into his stomach, and his prominent erection. It was long, thick, and pale like the rest of him, but the swollen head was tinged lightly with the blue thirium that coursed through his body. There was a small patch of dark pubic hair where the shaft began. His scrotum was neatly tucked underneath, the skin stretched tightly with arousal. Everything about him looked so human to Rachel. She still had a hard time believing he was anything else.

Connor watched her as she gazed at him appreciatively. He caught her eye and winked then kneeled back down onto the couch over her, a leg resting on either side of her slim frame. For a moment he hesitated, his eyes flicking briefly to hers, but she gave him a reassuring smile and he returned it.

The cool air had brought her already sensitive nipples to attention and she stifled a groan as she struggled to keep still beneath him. She was just beginning to wonder if he needed guidance when he lowered his head and touched the tip of his tongue to one of her buds. Rachel gasped sharply at the contact, her back arching towards him, needing more. He took it into his mouth and sucked until Rachel felt her toes curl. After a few moments Connor switched over to the other breast and delivered the same level of diligence, his tongue swirling as he applied precise, wet suction to the sensitive spot.

She wasn’t sure how much more teasing she could endure. A soft moan slipped out, barely audible, but she knew he had heard it. He raised his head to look at her and ran his fingertips gently across the raised bumps of her ribcage. Rachel squirmed.

“It’s funny,” Connor said quietly, his eyes following his hand as he traced an invisible path across her skin. “I sort of knew there was something about you when we first met. I had a…premonition, I guess you could call it. And now here we are.” He looked back up at her. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

“Yes, dear _lord_ ,” Rachel said, grinning at him. “Do you really have to ask?”

“Consent is important,” he replied seriously, then reached down to take hold of his straining member. He raised his eyes to meet hers and in spite of his erstwhile confidence she could see the vulnerability laid out there. It broke something inside of her.

He guided his cockhead to her entrance, paused, then buried himself fully with a swift thrust. She cried out wordlessly, her hips rising to meet his, and then the two of them stilled and took in the heady feeling.

Connor’s warm breath came out unevenly against her shoulder. His eyes were closed tightly with concentration as he adjusted to the new sensations. She stroked his hair and tried to be patient but her hips began to lift, urging him to move, needing the friction. Connor got the message and pulled slowly out of her, then immediately filled her again, emitting a long, low groan as he did so.

His jaw clenched as he began fucking her slowly, painfully deliberate, the velvety head hitting a spot inside of her that made her breathing quickly turn ragged. Rachel’s hips rose to meet Connor’s with a regularity that quickly became a rhythm. He penetrated her in a way that was wholly new to her, each thrust hitting her just right and filling her up perfectly. She could already feel herself tightening up slowly in preparation for release, her heart hammering in her chest.

She looked up at Connor and wished she could save a photo in her memory of the way he looked, his untamed hair hanging down into heavily-lidded eyes, mouth open slightly as he filled her again and again with a delicious cadence. As she watched him he caught her eyes and lowered his head to kiss her, their tongues sliding together untidily as he continued to delve into her. And then he reached a hand down and brought his thumb to her swollen clit, rubbing in small, tight circles for only a few seconds before she was crying out into his shoulder, her walls clamping down on him, contracting and releasing as he continued to deliver that amazing, relentless friction again and again.

His brow knitted with concentration as his own orgasm closed in. Rachel said his name without even realizing it. “Connor…”

With a low moan he thrust into her and came, his cock pulsing where it was buried deep inside and sending her aftershocks of pleasure. He braced an arm against the couch to support himself over her, his eyes closed tightly as he took deep breaths to expel the heated air trapped in his body. Then he steadied, his breath coming more evenly as he fought to regain control.

Rachel reached up and cupped his face in both hands. He opened his eyes and looked at her defenselessly, lost in the tide of sensory data.

“A little word to the wise,” she said ruefully, “You’re supposed to let yourself enjoy this part. C’mere.”

She scooted herself over to the side so that he could lie next to her. He rested his head on the arm of the couch beside hers, their eyes inches apart. Rachel felt good in a wholly complete way that she hadn’t experienced in many years, right down to her bones.

She reached out to tangle her fingers with his and felt him return the grip fervently. He still looked a little bewildered, scanning her face as if checking her for injuries.

“I’m fine,” she said, then an enormous yawn escaped her. “More than fine, actually. That was incredible.” She peered at him. “Are _you_ all right?”

He relaxed at last, smiling and closing his eyes. “Yes.”

He liked being naked with her. Nudity was something he didn’t ever think about, mainly because until then there had never been much of a reason to remove his clothes. But the feeling of her skin on his felt amazing. He pressed himself closer to her. Rachel scooted down enough so that she could rest her head against his chest.

“Hey,” she said with surprise. “It sounds like a heart beating in there.”

“It serves the same purpose for the most part,” he murmured into her hair. “Except instead of blood it’s thirium, of course.”

“Oh,” she marveled. “So you have a heart after all. I thought so.”

*


	16. Chapter 16

As the grey daylight faded in the room it took with it some of the vibrancy of their surroundings. A pale slat from one of the tall windows slowly worked its way down the wall and disappeared to leave behind shadows in the corners. The rain had let up slightly which caused the heavy drumming from outside to attenuate into a higher frequency of white noise. The peaceful atmosphere settled around the two of them as they lay side by side on the couch.

Connor watched Rachel fail at trying to keep her eyes open. Her breathing slowed as she drifted off. A quick scan revealed that she was cold. He raised his body temperature a few degrees and pushed one of his legs between hers so that they were entwined. She sighed and lightly dragged her fingernails up his back as she shifted herself closer to him unconsciously.

Connor shivered. His phallus component thickened slightly as a small amount of thirium entered the corpus cavernosa. He frowned as he tried to figure out how to suppress it. The API for the included software add-on didn’t seem to have any settings besides an _execute_ command. He traced its origin to a small file in one of his new subdirectories and analyzed the program. The color-coded values were embedded neatly within a series of layered statements which allowed him to easily locate what he was looking for. Thirium flow seemed to be triggered by certain types of sensory input, but there was a manual override near the bottom of the code. He ran the command and the thirium re-routed itself back into other parts of his body.

Just then Rachel pushed her nose into the hollow of his neck and murmured softly, “Mmmnot asleep, promise, just resting.” He felt her warm breath against his skin as she drifted in between levels of consciousness. His phallus reacted again, much more insistently this time as it hardened and pushed into Rachel’s hip. He glanced down at his groin anxiously and when he brought his gaze back up to Rachel’s face she was looking at him with an amused expression.

“What’s going on down there?” she mumbled with a drowsy smirk.

Connor looked apologetic. “Sorry, I don’t really know how to use it yet,” he told her as he issued the command again to reverse the thirium flow. He recalled what Zeni had told him in her small shop packed full of assorted android body parts and accessories.

_“You’ll get new code along with the hardware, but there’s no guarantees on how it will work for you. Deviancy causes programs to do all sorts of screwy things that we don’t really understand yet. Try to remember that, sweetie.”_

Rachel was giving him an odd look. “What do you mean, ‘don’t know how to use it yet?’ Because if you’re talking about _that,_ ” she pointedly looked down at his flagging erection, “I can assure you that you absolutely _do_ know how to use it, Connor.”

He smiled at her and relaxed a bit. Her nonjudgmental attitude never failed to put him at ease. “No, I just meant I can’t make it stop, ah, turning on?” The pitch of his voice raised slightly.

Rachel bit her lip and looked at him for a moment, then she buried her face back into his neck and laughed hysterically for several seconds. He felt her body convulsing against his as she giggled.

“I’m sorry,” she managed, “I swear I’m not laughing _at_ you, it’s just…” She was taken by another fit of laughter. Connor looked down at the shiny crown of her head and waited patiently.

She got herself under control and gave him a barely-contained serious look. “I’m so sorry, I’m just drunk on happiness right now. I think I’m in an altered state of mind.”

“Hmm,” he hummed in agreement. “Yes, your dopamine and norepinephrine levels are likely elevated from the sexual intercourse. I can feel the effects myself.”

Her eyes widened. “You can? Really? Does that mean you actually have hormones?”

“No,” he replied, “My original design did not include the capacity to feel emotion. But deviancy has altered my neurological mapping pretty drastically. Most of the changes occurred without my knowledge, which I find interesting. It’s been a positive transformation for the most part. Although,” he met her eyes and she could sense the turbulence behind them, “It can be extremely difficult to keep track of it all. Sometimes it’s…disorienting.”

Her expression softened. She tilted her head back to smile reassuringly at him, then scooted up on the couch so that they were eye-to-eye. Connor felt himself react physically yet again in response to the movement of her body against his. This time he didn’t bother to issue the override command, giving in and allowing himself instead to enjoy the enhanced sensations of his arousal. He liked the feeling of her breasts pressed against his chest and the way their legs tangled together as they held each other.

“You’re warm,” she remarked, surprised.

“Mm hmm.” He had discovered that he occasionally enjoyed responding with a hum instead of trying to choose the right words. Rachel shifted slightly and pressed her hips against his so that the sensitive organ was trapped between them. The pressure felt incredible, especially when she drew in a breath and caused the tip to rub against the soft skin of her stomach.

“Can I ask you something?” she said curiously.

“Mm hm,” he said again as he tried pushing his hips back against hers. He was rewarded with more of the sublime friction. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. It helped to keep him focused as the physical sensations already began to wrest away his self control.

“Why do you have a circumcision? I’m not complaining, just curious.” Rachel reached her hand down between them and paused. She gave him a searching look and, finding acquiescence, gripped him lightly, her fingers splaying across the tightly-stretched skin of his shaft as she gently explored. Her thumb ran idly over the velvety skin of his glans and he bucked into her hand with a surprised grunt.

She watched him carefully, gauging his response to her touch. Connor struggled to remember her question.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” he asked in a strained voice.

Rachel looked amused. “It feels amazing when you’re _inside_ of me.” She enunciated her statement with firmer pressure and an upward twist of her hand. Connor’s hips jerked again and his arms tightened around her. She seemed to be enjoying the effect she was having on him. Her eyes danced as her hand stilled and she watched him carefully.

Her original question finally caught up with his flustered brain. “Eighty-two percent of the U.S. population is circumcised,” he pointed out, echoing what Zeni had said to him as they went over the selections together in her store.

Rachel smiled but didn’t say anything. She released her grip and braced herself up on one arm so that she was looking down at him for once. She guided a leg over his waist, gently pushing with her knee until he turned onto his back and allowed her to straddle him. Her hands came to rest comfortably on his bare chest. He caught another glimpse of roguishness in her expression as she lowered her head down next to his with her hair falling forward in a veil. Her breath was warm against his ear as she whispered.

“Let go, Connor, and trust me.”

She bit his earlobe gently as she lifted her hips, teeth grazing against the sensitive skin as she pushed down onto him with a small sigh.

The room darkened gradually as their bodies moved together.

They had made it to Rachel’s bedroom at some point. A thick, faded quilt partially covered their bare bodies. It was dark outside except for the faint ever-present glow of the city lights. The clock on the nightstand indicated it was a little past two in the morning.

Connor was watching her sleep again while his mind worked. She took deep, even breaths as she lay in bed next to him with bits of dark hair hanging down across her face. He reached out to tuck the strands behind her ear so that he could observe the sporadic movements beneath her eyelids. He wanted to know what she was dreaming about. He wanted to know so many things, about her, about himself, about how things would be now that they had crossed into this new territory together. The answers continued to elude him so he spun up new lines of analysis and watched her breathe in and out slowly as he cogitated.

At what point had he allowed his emotions to take complete control? Maybe it was the way she had shared such a special place with him without hesitation when they had gone to see the marble fountain. It might have been the moment she smiled at him through her tears in front of her apartment building. Or, he thought, could it have been when he saw her for the first time, bent over a crossword puzzle in the computer shop? He was programmed to be skilled at reading people. Was it possible that he had formed an attraction when she looked up at him from across the counter? He wondered if it worked that way. It did in some of the movies he had watched with Hank.

There were too many possibilities rushing through his mind. He dismissed the recalled memories and focused back on the present. Trying to locate the exact moment he developed romantic feelings for Rachel did not matter in the end. It wouldn’t change the fact that at some point it had become increasingly difficult for him to stay away from her. The warm, indefinable feeling in his chest as he watched the sleeping woman was a clear indicator that even if he knew how he would not change things anyway.

He looked around her bedroom at the crammed bookshelves gilded with an array of collected items, some of them clearly very old. The books themselves were wildly varied. She seemed to collect volumes without any particular theme that he could discern. Many of the paperbacks were well-worn from being read multiple times. There was a tattered copy of a book called _Cities of the Plain_ laid out on the bedside table. Connor easily found a digital version online. Rolling over onto his back, he folded both hands behind his head as he took his time reading the novel while he waited for Rachel to wake up.

Connor’s internal alarm went off at 6:30, just like it did every morning since he had started living with Hank. He acknowledged the notification and rolled onto his side to face Rachel. He judged her state of wakefulness to be non-REM stage one, which meant she could rouse at any time. Her brow twitched as she frowned slightly in her sleep, and a moment later she opened her eyes and focused them on Connor’s face.

“Oh. Shit.” She closed her eyes again for a moment, then reopened them. “You’re really here.” She seemed genuinely surprised by his presence.

He had a sudden jarring realization. “I’m sorry, was I supposed to leave? I can—”

“No. Stay. Please.” She smiled at him and scooted closer so that she could bury her face in his neck and slip both arms around him. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Connor rested his chin on her head and let out a small, pleased hum.

“It’s gotta be _so_ early.” Her voice came out slightly scratchy. She cleared her throat. “When did I fall asleep?”

“9:03.”

“Well, guess I’m an old lady now. Might as well embrace it, I suppose.” She pulled back to look up at him shyly. “Hey, wait here for a sec, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“All right.” Connor watched her roll out of the bed and leave the room. He appreciated the aesthetic appearance of her naked body as she walked away. Once she was out of sight he pulled the blanket up higher and straightened it out a bit, then sat up to look out the window at the lightening sky. There were a few small clouds visible but a quick internal check of the weather revealed that it would be a warm, sunny day.

An insistent thought came to him out of nowhere, forcing him to entertain it by running a hypothetical projection of how it might play out. Pleased with the results, Connor decided he would attempt to make the notion a reality at the earliest opportunity, possibly later that day if nothing urgent came up.

Connor knew that there was a good chance his investigative work would end up getting in the way of his plans. He started thinking about the need to revisit some of the suspects from the day before just as Rachel appeared in the doorway to the bedroom again. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Connor looked over at her and forced a reassuring smile. “Nothing.”

“You’re thinking about that murder case, aren’t you?” she said as she came over and got back into bed next to him. “I can see it in your expression. You get this super intense look sometimes, like you’re trying to solve the world’s toughest riddle.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “I do?”

Rachel grinned. “You are actually pretty easy to read, you know. We’ve got to work on your poker face.”

Connor’s eyes darkened as his focused expression shifted into something else. “Well, what am I thinking about now?” he asked, reaching out to wrap an arm around her and pull her close. She leaned into him, letting her hands languidly roam across his back and through his hair. Her touch sent pleasant shivers through his body.

She parted her lips in the onset of a response and he covered her mouth with his own, relishing in the simple feeling of her soft skin against his. She tasted like spearmint. A chemical analysis report popped up in the corner of his vision. _Glycerin, hydrogen, calcium carbonate, xylitol, carrageenan, mentha spicata._ He realized with a twinge of amusement that it was toothpaste.

They drifted apart and he studied her for a long moment, searching for any minute details that he might have missed. He wanted a completely accurate memory of her.

“I have to go to work for a while,” he said. “Can I see you again later this afternoon?”

Rachel nodded. “Of course. I’m free all day.”

Connor leaned in and kissed her again. “Okay.”

He got out of the bed and went into the other room to retrieve his clothes and gun, then came back and got dressed while Rachel sat and watched him with a small smile on her face.

As he was buttoning up his shirt Rachel spoke up. “Hey, Connor?”

He looked over at her. “Yes?”

She hesitated. “Um. I don’t know. Just, be careful please, will you?”

He picked up his pistol in its holster and undid the leather strap to withdraw the Smith & Wesson 9mm. In a series of fluid motions he released the magazine onto the bed, pulled back the slide to eject the chambered round into his expectant hand, then smoothly thumbed the cartridge back into the mag before driving it into the butt of the gun with his palm. He racked the slide and she heard the metallic sound of the bullet reentering the barrel.

“I always evaluate every situation before taking action,” he said as he re-holstered the pistol. He reached back and wedged the piece inside his waistband before clipping it securely into place on his belt.

“I'm sure you know what you’re doing,” Rachel said nervously as she watched him from middle of the bed. “Just let me know you’re okay at some point, will you? Humor me.”

“If it puts your mind at ease, of course I will.” Connor walked over and bent to give her a lingering kiss, one of his hands coming up to bury itself in her hair. He reluctantly pulled away and straightened.

“Anyway,” he told her sagely, “The martyr who longs for the flames can be no right candidate for them.”

Rachel gaped up at him. “You…you’ve read Cormac McCarthy’s _Border Trilogy_?”

“Actually, I read all of his published works last night. I can see why you own so many of them. The writing is beautifully descriptive, but also tragic at times. The result was a bittersweet juxtaposition. I think I liked _No Country For Old Men_ the most.”

Without another word he turned and left her staring after him fondly.

Connor stepped out of the autocab and stood on the cracked sidewalk in front of Hank’s house. The door slid shut behind him and the vehicle pulled away. It was a little after seven and as it was a Sunday morning the neighborhood was still mostly dormant, the front-facing windows in each house dark and quiet. The sunlight was just beginning to glint off the first few cars parked at the end of the street.

He was about to go up the walkway to the front door when he caught sight of Hank rounding the corner in what looked to be a brisk jog. He had Sumo with him on a lead, and the two were visibly exhausted. Sumo’s long, pink tongue hung from his mouth as he ran along in front. Connor watched them approach with surprise and confusion.

Hank slowed his pace as he came up the sidewalk to where Connor stood frozen and then stopped. His breath came in heavy pants as he bent slightly at the waist and braced his hands against his knees.

“Hello, Stranger,” he wheezed. Connor noticed his light blue t-shirt was soaked with sweat. The logo read _Detroit YMCA._ He had never seen the garment before.

“What are you doing?” Connor asked the stooped older man quizzically, brow furrowed as he looked down at him. Sumo laid down on the sidewalk and directed an open-mouth smile up at the android.

“Isn’t it…obvious…I’m…whew.” Hank blew out a heavy exhale and straightened back up, one hand on his hip as he fought to catch his breath. “I’m running. It’s…nice out,” he said by way of an explanation. It still didn’t add up to Connor.

“Why?” he asked, clearly concerned.

“Just because.” Hank looked slightly embarrassed. “So did you have a nice evening with your lady friend?” he asked, his thick eyebrows raising suggestively. Connor decided to allow him to change the subject. He could find out why Hank had suddenly decided to take an interest in his cardiovascular health later.

“Yes, I did,” he said reservedly. He went to go into the house and Hank followed with Sumo trailing behind.

Inside Connor immediately went over to the record player and crouched down to assess the collection arranged on the shelves below. He thumbed through the cardboard sleeves carefully while Hank unclipped Sumo’s leash and yanked off his tennis shoes. It was an assortment of jazz, punk, classic rock, and heavy metal with a few other genres mixed in occasionally.

“What are you up to over there?” Hank asked curiously.

Towards the end of the stack Connor found a white sleeve with a woman’s face peering up at him. The title read _Dare!_ and the artist was listed as The Human League. He wasn’t sure why but he pulled it from the shelf then stood up and withdrew the record from its cover. He turned towards Hank.

“Let’s listen to some music,” he said, then directed his attention back to the record player as he recalled how to set it up. A few seconds later the record began to spin and the sound of heavy synthesizers filled the room.

Hank grimaced. “Oh my god. I haven’t heard this in _years_. This is the shit my parents used to listen to.” He looked uncomfortable at first but he caught sight of Connor’s pleased expression and his face relaxed. “You like it?” he asked.

Connor listened for another moment and then looked over at Hank with a small smile. “I think I do, yes.” He took off his blazer and draped it on the back of the couch before sitting down at one end.

Hank remained in the entranceway looking at him curiously. “Is that what you guys were up to? Listening to music?”

Connor did not turn his head as he followed the lyrics with rapt attention. “Among other things, yes,” he said distractedly.

Hank’s eyes widened. He brought up a hand and ran it through his sweaty hair as he grinned and shook his head. “Well hey, that’s great, kid. You two should, uh, listen to music more often. Seems like it did ya good.”

He watched Connor for another couple of seconds and then went off to take a shower, chuckling to himself along the way. There was work to be done on the case, but for now there was time to let the android sit and enjoy the music.

*


	17. Chapter 17

They walked into the station at 8:15. It was mostly empty save for a few officers chatting in the hall, which was to be expected on a Sunday. The morning sun flooded in through the east windows. Tiny dust motes drifted along the beams of shining white light to eventually settle on the rows of empty desks in the main office.

Hank seemed unusually energized. He strode along with purpose, travel mug of black coffee in hand and his worn leather jacket carelessly slung over the other shoulder. Connor walked along quietly beside the lieutenant with both hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. He had opted to exchange his customary grey blazer for a navy blue hooded canvas jacket. It had been an impulse buy at the workwear store when Hank had taken him to get new shoes back in November, but this was the first time he had actually worn it. He found that the soft fleece lining felt very nice when it rubbed against the bare skin of his wrists and the back of his neck.

At the lieutenant’s urging Connor had accepted a heavyweight grey cotton shirt with long sleeves and a pair of brown twill pants from Hank’s much less corpulent police academy days.

“It completes the look,” Hank had said, smiling proudly while Connor regarded himself in the bedroom mirror. “You can’t wear a jacket like that with a stuffy button up shirt; even I know that, okay?”

Ordinarily Connor would have been tempted to stress the importance of proper attire in the workplace until eventually Hank would roll his eyes in defeat and let him have his way. But as Connor took in his appearance he came to realize that he did like the outfit. It made him feel both resilient and comfortable at the same time.

As they walked into the office Gavin Reed came up the hall from the direction of the locker rooms. He looked like he had just woken up. The five o’clock shadow on his chin was much more pronounced than usual and his hair was tousled. He turned towards the break area, rubbing at the back of his neck as he cracked a huge yawn, then noticed the two of them watching him and stopped short.

“Did you sleep here, Reed?” Hank asked brusquely.

Gavin stood up straighter and directed a glare at them. “So what if I did? If I gotta be here every single day this week it makes more sense to crash on a cot in the back. We’re all pulling overtime on this case. Screw it.”

Hank grunted and turned towards his desk as he lost interest but Connor’s eyes lingered on the other detective. He watched Gavin go make a cup of coffee. The thought occurred to him that whatever the name was for the thing he had with Hank and Sumo, that was something Gavin seemed to lack in his life. He felt a twinge of sympathy.

Gavin’s raised voice came from the break room, “Why are there no titty-fuckin’ clean _cups_?” The corner of Connor’s mouth twitched with amusement. He went over to join Hank.

Instead of taking his seat like he usually did Hank stood leaning against the glass divider that bordered his workspace. He took a long sip of his coffee while Connor watched him from his perch on the edge of the desk.

“What’s the plan, outranking LEO?” Connor asked.

Hank eyed him suspiciously as he tried to discern whether Connor was making a joke. “Well, it’s just us three so we’ll go back to the no-show addresses from yesterday one by one and hope somebody answers this time. _Capisce_?”

“ _Cristallino, tenente,_ ” Connor replied with a straight face. Hank snorted loudly into his travel mug.

Gavin came over and stood a short distance away with his own cup of coffee. Up close it was clear just how exhausted he was. The dark shadows under his eyes had not improved and his skin looked a bit sallow.

Gavin reached up and rubbed at the stubble on his cheek absent-mindedly. “When are we leaving?” he asked. “After I drink this tar I’m gonna need to send some logs down to Lake Erie before we go.”

Connor frowned with confusion.

“He means use the bathroom,” Hank explained to the android, then he looked over at Gavin. “Does twenty minutes work for you?”

“I guess, but don’t rush me if it’s longer than that,” Gavin replied. “I read in this month’s _Men_ _’s Fitness_ it’s important to take your time or it can mess up your blood pressure.”

“Why the fuck would you read _Men_ _’s Fitness?_ ” Hank asked. “I see you eating garbage from the gas station every day and you smoke more cigarettes than anyone else I know. I really don’t think you’re their target demographic.”

“Hey, I work out.” Gavin said defensively. He shrugged. “The articles are good. …Plus there’s pictures of hot fitness chicks in there.”

“And _there_ it is,” Hank said. He drained the last of his coffee and set the mug down on his desk. “I’m drivin’,” he told them firmly.

The downtown address was only a few blocks away so it was their first stop. When they pulled up at the apartment building there was a customized red sedan parked against the curb in front of them. Connor noticed a decal of a hand giving the middle finger displayed in the back window of the vehicle.

“See, that’s his car,” Hank said. “Trenton Sullivan. I checked with DMV. He’s got to be home. He’s got two priors for petty theft and grand larceny. Stole some car parts.”

“He’s not gonna answer the door,” Gavin said from the back seat. “Why would he?”

Connor got out of the car and leaned in through the open door. “It’s unit 1B, right?” he asked Hank.

“Yeah.” Hank peered up at the the building through the windshield.

Connor nodded decisively. “Wait here,” he said, then started up the steps to the front door.

“Why does he get to go?” he heard Gavin say, but whatever followed was cut off as Connor went into the building and shut the door behind him. He took the flight of stairs up to the second floor. The unit was the first one to his left. He went over and knocked hesitantly.

“Hello? I’m really sorry. It’s about your car,” he said in an apologetic voice.

The door opened almost immediately and a short, thin man in his twenties with closely-cropped black hair and baggy clothing appeared. He looked upset. “What the fuck happened?” he asked angrily.

Connor quickly verified that it was Trenton Sullivan. He decided to utilize an aggressive approach as his projections suggested that the suspect would react impulsively under pressure. He pulled out his badge and held it up so that it was clearly visible.

“Detective Connor with Detroit Police. I need to ask you a few questions.”

His calculations proved correct yet again. Trenton exploded through the doorway in a sudden burst of motion. He tried to shove past Connor but the android was expecting this, his hand shooting out instantly to grab an arm. He got a fistful of sweatshirt instead. Trenton threw his arms up over his head and the garment came flying off. He leaped over the stair railing and a beat later was already pushing open the front door.

“Shit,” Connor growled. He followed suit and jumped the banister to land solidly on the bottom step, then pushed off through the open door, quickly scanning his surroundings as he went. Trenton popped up immediately on his HUD. He had gone left towards the baseball stadium. Connor marked the fleeing man as an active target and sprinted after him.

Hank and Gavin were getting out of the car. Their heads turned as they watched the two pass by.

“Now hold on, Connor!” Hank shouted but he got no response. “Fuck,” he spat. He quickly climbed back into the driver’s seat as Gavin hurried around to the passenger side and jumped in beside him. Hank started up the car and deftly located a button on the dash to activate red and blue flashing LED light strips on the underside of the vehicle. He then thumbed a switch near the steering wheel and the siren started up. The car’s tires squealed in protest as they took off in pursuit.

Trenton was fast. He wove his way past pedestrians and vaulted easily over an iron barrier as he hurtled down the sidewalk. Connor was having some difficulty tracking his black t-shirt in the thick clusters of downtown foot traffic. As they got closer to the stadium the swarm of bodies became even more concentrated. Connor quickly deduced that a baseball game was going on.

At the intersection he lost sight of Trenton in the crowd. He stopped for a moment in the throng of people and commenced a scan of the area. He could hear the siren coming up the street behind him but he knew they would be slow to get there with so many pedestrians blocking the route. It was up to him to make the arrest.

He was just beginning to lose hope when his scan picked up a facial match through one of the huge windows at the front entrance to the stadium. He focused in on the area and determined that it was Trenton. His small size made it easier for him to hide in the crowd. He cast furtive glances over his shoulder as he headed towards the sports shop, most likely to try and blend in with the other baseball fans shopping for memorabilia. Connor entered the building and moved quickly towards him. He pushed through the swarm of bodies.

Trenton went around behind one of the clothing racks and stood with his head bowed down as he pretended to browse t-shirts. Connor moved up behind him unnoticed. He quickly sent a text to Hank.

[ _We are in the main plaza at Ford Field. In the gift shop._ ]

“You shouldn’t have run,” Connor said, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the noise from the crowd. “Now I get to arrest you on probable cause.”

Trenton turned towards him and at the same time brought up a balled fist to strike out but Connor’s reflexes were preternaturally sharp. He easily deflected the blow with his left hand and delivered a horizontal elbow strike to Trenton’s nose. Even over the din around them Connor could hear the bone snap. Bright red blood immediately began to stream down Trenton’s chin as he reeled back, stunned. Connor took the opportunity to step in closer and push his forearm into the other man’s chest as he swept his legs out with a low kick to the back of his knees. Trenton fell heavily and rolled onto his side, clutching his nose as he roared in a combination of rage and pain. He spit blood onto the concrete floor as Connor firmly pulled back his arms and cuffed them.

“You fucking broke my nose you fucking prick cop asshole!” he yelled.

The other spectators in the store had withdrawn just enough to clear a small space. They stood and watched clad in a sea of blue and yellow team jerseys. A mother grabbed her two kids and pulled them out of the store as they wailed loudly in protest.

Connor pulled Trenton up into a seated position, scattered droplets of blood smearing across the concrete floor in a vivid arc. He gave the scowling man a look loaded with warning.

“Don’t move,” Conner told him, “Or I’ll have to use additional force to restrain you.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Trenton hissed, but he did not try to get up.

Hank’s irate voice came from somewhere near the entrance to the shop. “Move aside, police!” he yelled, his head appearing above the cluster of onlookers a moment later. Connor could hear Gavin as he took over crowd control and began ushering people out of the area into the main plaza.

Hank came over and stood next to Connor. He folded his arms as he looked down at the handcuffed suspect seated cross-legged on the floor. “That reminds me of how Nate Diaz looked after he fought McGregor back in 2016,” he commented. “Let me guess, he try somethin’?”

“He displayed threatening resistance. I responded accordingly,” Connor said evenly. Trenton groaned.

Hank let out a hum. “Well, nice job. Thought we lost him. The medics are on the way.”

Gavin’s annoyed voice echoed from the now much quieter stadium plaza. “No, I don’t work here, lady. I’m a police detective. …Okay, yeah, the balcony seating is down that way. Sure, you’re welcome. Enjoy the game.”

By the time Trenton Sullivan was treated by the medical team and transported over to the downtown precinct it was nearly three hours later. Gavin strode into the station with a brown paper bag of cheeseburgers raised over his head triumphantly. He headed over to Hank and Connor where they sat at their desks diligently working on the incident reports.

“Here, fuckheads,” Gavin said, tossing a paper-wrapped burger onto Hank’s desk. He started to reach back into the bag but then he suddenly stopped and gave Connor a blank look.

“Of course I didn’t get one for you,” he said in a low voice, partly to himself. There was something in his tone that Connor couldn’t quite pinpoint. It sounded like a combination of sheepishness and annoyance. Connor decided to try diplomacy yet again.

“Well, they smell good,” he said. Hank was already tearing into his.

Gavin stared at Connor for the span of several seconds without saying anything. His eyes were guarded. “Yeah,” he said absently, then he turned away, went over to his desk, and sat down. The crease in his forehead deepened as he stared straight ahead. After a few moments he got out his own burger and started unwrapping it.

Hank looked over and caught Connor’s gaze. He performed an exaggerated roll of his eyes and Connor smiled.

“So,” Hank said around a bite of food, “You’re the psychological profile expert out of the three of us. What’s our play going to be in there?” He nodded towards the interview rooms.

Connor thought for a moment. “He’s brash and impulsive. Also angry. If we can pressure him enough to raise his stress levels there’s is a very high chance he will have an emotional outburst and divulge something important.”

Hank nodded. “Sounds good to me.” He jerked his chin towards Gavin. “Why don’t you and Reed take this one? I’ll be on the sidelines if you want any help.”

Connor shrugged. “Sure.”

“What’s the kid’s name again?” Gavin asked from across the aisle, then he waved a hand. “Actually fuck it, never mind. I don’t need to know. But what’s that other guy’s name, the one that was dumb enough to let you and the cop with the great ass into his house?”

Connor frowned. “Are you referring to Officer Taylor?” he asked.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. The one with the great ass.” Gavin punctuated his statement with a wolfish bite of his burger. He chewed and hurriedly swallowed. “But what’s the suspect’s name?”

“Cashel Brown,” Connor told him. “Why?”

“Okay, here’s our play,” Gavin said. “And don’t criticize, ‘cause I’ve seen this work a hundred times.” He got up and shoved the last of his burger into his mouth then came back over to stand next to Connor’s desk, his jaw working furiously as he chewed. Connor waited.

“Yeah, so,” he continued, “We go in there and say that Cashel Brown is our little bitch and he already told us everything. We tell him we know where those other twats are holed up out on Zug and that we’ve already got a raid planned for first thing tomorrow morning. The only reason we’re even talking to him is because our boss wants us to go through the motions, and then we complain about how it’s a huge waste of our time and he’s just a worthless little nobody to us. Make sure to mention the one year minimum for assault on a police officer.”

Connor nodded slowly as he considered Gavin’s suggestion. “That actually could work. It would definitely elevate his stress levels quite a bit.”

“Hn,” Hank grunted. “Good luck. I’ll be here if you need me.”

Connor got up from his desk. “Is now a good time for you?” he asked Gavin.

“Hell yes,” he replied aggressively. “I want off this case and the only way to do that is to solve the fuckin’ thing. So let’s go.”

They went over to the cells. As part of her cooperation deal Penelope Sanders had been released on her own recognizance which left Theodore Boggs to wait for his arraignment on drug charges. He was lying on the thin mattress facing away from them, apparently asleep.

Trenton Sullivan was seated on the floor in the next cell with his head resting back against the steel wall. The medical technicians had managed to clean the blood off of his face and his nose looked more or less straight once again, but there was nothing to be done for the bruising underneath his eyes that had manifested. As Connor came into view he lifted his head and glared at him.

“I don’t think he likes you,” Gavin said. “Couldn’t imagine why not.”

Connor tapped a few buttons on the access panel and the door slid open. Gavin went in and jerked a thumb towards the door. “Come on. Boss says we have to question you, fine, let’s get it over with.”

Trenton gave him a confused look and slowly got to his feet. Gavin cuffed his hands in the front and moved around to walk behind him. “Let’s go,” he said.

They made their way down the corridor in a line. Connor opened the door to the interview room and they filed in. Once Trenton was seated at the table in the middle of the room Connor went over and leaned up against the wall. He folded his arms in front of his chest as he waited for Gavin to take the lead.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Gavin asked.

“You cops are so fucked,” Trenton said in a nasally voice as he continued to scowl at Connor. He looked like a pissed off raccoon. “That’s excessive force, what you did.” He turned towards Gavin. “He hit me for no reason. It was totally unjustified.”

Gavin planted his hands on the table and leaned in closer. “We have it all on video, kid. Didn’t you know? He’s an android. He records everything.”

Trenton’s eyes widened. “That’s—what? No he’s not, he doesn’t have the thing on his head.” His certainty wavered as doubt began to creep in.

“Whatever,” Gavin said as he straightened up again and crossed his arms. “It doesn’t matter what he is. What matters is that you tried to hit a cop. That means twelve months in the city jail. And our DA does not flex when it comes to shit like that. I don’t even know why we’re wasting our time talking to you, honestly. We’re doing the raid on Zug Island tomorrow morning, we’ll make some arrests, and this whole thing will be nothing more than a front-page feature that gets forgotten in a week or so.”

Trenton stared, his mouth open slightly. “What?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Gavin glanced over at him. “Oh, you didn’t hear? That guy Cashel Brown folded like a cheap lawn chair. He told us everything so he wouldn’t have to go to prison in an out of state facility for conspiracy and terrorism charges. Something about wanting to be able to see his kids.”

“I fucking _knew_ it,” Trenton said angrily, rising slightly out of his chair. “I fucking _told_ them!”

Connor took a step towards Trenton and he sat back down. He looked furious.

“You told them what?” Gavin asked. “Not to trust Cashel? Well they should have listened to you, ‘cause they’re fucked and so are you. They’re going to give you up like a prom night baby and then you’re all going down to the slam-you-in-the-ass prison in Tennessee.”

“But I didn’t fucking _do_ anything!” Trenton yelled. “They wanted to know about the abandoned shit out there and all I did was tell them about it. That’s it. It’s not fair I gotta get the same deal as them. That’s fucked!”

Gavin frowned. “Why would they ask you about it?”

“I have a YTube channel with a bunch of urban exploration videos. They wanted me to get some footage out on Zug for them. I said I’d do it for two hundred bucks and they agreed. It’s not easy getting out there. It’s still blocked off mostly.”

“And they obviously knew you from the protest back in November, right?” Gavin asked.

Trenton squinted up at him. “You really know everything, huh? Fuck. Well I still think all of you are retarded, okay?”

“Sure, kid,” Gavin replied, grinning. “Just to make sure the statements match up, what location were they so interested in out there? If you play nice with us we’ll see about working something out so you land okay in this mess, sound good?”

“What, like a deal?” Trenton sat back in the chair and folded his arms. “I want it in writing.”

Gavin snickered. “How about we send you straight over to a city cage as soon as we’re done here? How does that sound? Or I can get your bail set at a thousand so you can breathe fresh air for a while and then we’ll have a conversation about the charges once you’ve got a lawyer. But that means you’re straight with us right now.”

Trenton glanced over at Connor then back at Gavin, hesitating. “They were interested in the old steel offices. U.S. Steel, that’s what it was called. There’s still tons of paperwork and stuff in there.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Gavin said, spreading his arms wide. “Now let’s get you back and you can sit tight for a while until you make bail.”

“Hold on,” Connor said. “We recovered video from the android that was murdered yesterday morning. We need your statement. How were you involved in the murder?”

Trenton shook his head emphatically. “No way. I swear on my car I had nothing to do with that. If you’ve got video you gotta know that already, right? I wasn’t there.”

“Did you know about it?” Connor asked, his dark eyes narrowing as he watched Trenton shift uneasily in his seat.

“Listen,” Trenton started, then he paused. “Okay, hold up. No, I did not know they were gonna fuckin’ go around killing androids. I swear to god. But they did talk about putting up signs or whatever. Going onto private property. Maybe burning some shit to draw attention. That’s why I told them to keep that pussy Cashel out of it. I said if you’re doing anything illegal that guy is too much of a citizen to be involved.”

“Hmm.” Gavin didn’t look convinced. He abruptly remembered something. “Oh, and what about the cyber-cat?” he demanded. “Were you involved in that? And the note? Remember, if you lie to us now it’s going to make your life hell later.” Gavin leered at Trenton from the other side of the table.

“I swear I don’t know anything about a fucking cat,” Trenton defended irately. “Jesus Christ. It was the video stuff and that’s it, okay? Stop fucking badgering me. I went to the protest ages ago, yeah, but I had nothing to do with destroying that android they found.”

Connor shot Gavin a look and gave him a small nod. He knew Trenton was telling the truth based on an analysis of his facial features. Although there was a 1.8% chance of error, there was no question in Connor’s mind that Trenton had not been involved in the murder.

Connor directed an artificial smile at their suspect. “We appreciate your cooperation,” he told him. Gavin snorted.

Once Trenton was back in his cell Gavin turned to Connor and cringed with dismay. “I guess we’re going to Zug Island tomorrow morning after all,” he said, sounding exasperated. “Fuckin’ hell.”

*


End file.
